Runic Fortunes
by emerald sorceress
Summary: Ymma's got a secret: she's a Saxon. And she'd really love to keep it quiet. In retrospect then, maybe saving Guinevere wasn't the brightest of ideas. Now she's attracted the unwanted attention of the knights it looks like it's time for plan b: run away!
1. An Unusual Introduction

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

**Saxon Law States: 'A father may sell his child if that child is under seven years old and if he needs to do so.'**

* * *

Every story has a beginning. Mine begins with one word:

Poverty.

My father was a good man, but he was also a poor one, and the two don't go together very well.

In a fight between Poverty and Goodness, Poverty would chop Goodness up into little pieces, cook it on a fire and eat the last scraps - anything to keep the starving ache away from the cold belly of Hunger.

We didn't have much to begin with; a small hut, a few pigs, some chickens and geese – enough to keep us alive and in relative health – and I lived in comfort for a peasant's daughter at least. My father worked as a fisherman, long hours for little pay, while I helped my mother cook, clean and mend clothing that had already been mended countless times, but would continue to be mended until we could afford to buy more cloth from the rich merchants in town.

Alric, my older brother by six years, was soon old enough to follow in my father's footsteps and before long was helping him bring in the nets, adding to the meagre income my father earned. I stayed at home, learning how to be a useful child. This meant learning the Three Rules:

1. Please your husband.

2. Please your family.

3. Please the gods.

What this actually meant was be obediant and submissive to everyone, always do what anyone tells you and don't complain.

Life continued in this way until I was seven summers old and famine swept the land, adding an unnecessary burden to our lives. The goddess Frige was not kind that year and I often heard my father bitterly cursing her.

Our livestock were taken by gruff, burly men, so that other, richer people could be fed. Alric fell seriously ill and my mother spent all of her time and my father's money on expensive medicines, which failed to cure the wasting disease my brother had contracted.

My father's face grew more hollows, added more lines to a face already far too old for a man relatively young in years. My belly was empty but my heart was full and I loved my family dearly, but felt utterly useless, unable to do anything helpful.

It was that winter, when the famine was at its worst, that I suppose a miracle happened. At the time I thought it a curse, but looking back I can see it only as some intervention by the gods.

One night a man, a stranger, came to our door, begging shelter from the storm about to unleash itself upon us, and I whispered to my brother that Thunor was obviously practicing with his mighty hammer, preparing for Ragnarok. He smiled and shook his head and told me that when Ragnarok came the storm would be _much_ bigger than this. However, Alric had exhausted himself with just these few words and my mother glared at me, as she pushed him gently down onto the pallet. He fell into a restless slumber almost immediately.

My father welcomed the stranger into our hut and sat him close to the fire, where he shrugged off his cloak and pack and laid them neatly next to the smoking wood. The rain coming in through the smoke hole was making the wood damp, but closing it up was unthinkable, the smoke would have no where to go and we would all be as smoked as the fish hanging, suspended from the ceiling.

Though Saxons are naturally distrustful of strangers we had no such fear, for what belongings had we that could be stolen but the clothes from our backs? That and my precious sun pendant, a talisman I had had ever since I could remember. I had been given it upon my birth for I was born in spring, the months Eostre watched over. Alric had one in the shape of a horse's head for he was born on Tiw's day. They were only made of copper but they were special items, and they were never taken off, for they offered protection and warded against evil.

While my father engaged the man in conversation, eager to learn of news of how the rest of the country fared, I cautiously inched my way closer to the man's belongings. I had just managed to undo the clasp when a hand came down and covered mine, grasping my fingers tightly and prying them away from the pack. I yelped, embarrassed at being caught and hung my head, awaiting my punishment. However I didn't feel the sharp slap of a hand, but instead the sound of laughter greeted my ears. I looked up and found myself looking into a pair of deep blue eyes, set in a face lined with mirth. His dark hair had sprinkles of grey at the temples and he smiled down at me.

"And what, child, do you think you were doing trying to open my sack?" His voice was warm and rough, spiked through with amusement.

"I wanted to see what was in it." I spoke with a child's honesty but at my mother's gasp I knew I was too bold. I bowed my head again but he lifted my chin with two calloused fingers and gazed into my eyes.

"Curiosity is not a bad quality. It often takes us to places we never dreamed of. But," and here he tapped my nose, "it can often mean that we get into a lot of trouble. Usually with authority." He paused and whispered into my ear. "I should know."

I giggled and twirled a piece of my dark grubby hair around one of my fingers.

The man smiled and turned back to my father.

"She'll do fine. I agree to your price."

* * *

I was so angry with them.

I spent all of my tears that day, as we left the only home I'd known to venture into a strange world I didn't know or understand. They needed the money and I prayed that Alric would survive, but the cost?

To sell their only daughter to a man they barely knew?

Goodness didn't lose that day, it was utterly massacred.

Dathan, (the man I had been sold to) was very kind, and treated me as the daughter he'd never had. He taught me practically everything I know- how to hunt game, how to avoid detection, how to survive with just your wits and a hunting dog. His nomadic lifestyle meant that he'd been all across Europe, and his tales were so exciting that he managed to quell my tears and make me adopt him as a surrogate father all in one go.

We never stayed in one place for too long, and it wasn't until I was 12 years old that we left Europe and went to live on a small island called Britannia. It was wet and damp there, but no more so than my Saxon homeland and we settled in relatively well. We stayed away from the Romans who had taken over the place and kept to the woods. Dathan told me that was where the Woads lived, painted people who rebelled against Roman rule. I never saw any, but occasionally I would spot a flash of blue from the corner of my eye. We had an understanding of a sort: we respected them and their privacy and they left us in peace.

It was in Britannia that Dathan died.

He was an old man by then, but I'd childishly expected him to live forever. Two and twenty summers was far to young to have the man you looked up to as a father snatched away from you. I cried bitterly that night, the first time I had done so since being taken away from my home. I buried Dathan in his favourite part of the woods, next to his old hunting dog Gera, along with all of his treasured possessions - his pair of hunting knives, a tin broach of his mothers and a bag of assorted coins, pins and beads that was tied in a pouch around his neck. I prayed to Woden to help him into the afterlife and I cast Cén to bless and ward the site.

I couldn't stay in that place any longer, so I picked up where I had left off and headed north towards The Wall.

That was my first mistake.

My second was not to take a rune reading before I left. So off I went blithely walking straight into the middle of Danger.

I wandered upland for a while grieving so deeply I didn't notice I had actually ventured past The Wall until it was too dark for me to see.

I ended up walking into a large oak tree.

Cursing the gods, I made camp for the night but was damned to find my hunting dogs were nowhere to be found. Now I _knew _the gods were laughing at me and I stormed off, so angry I very nearly failed to hear the sound of drumming coming from afar off. It was faint at the moment and I had to strain to hear, but there was no mistaking what I could hear:

Saxon war drums.

I estimated it would taken them a week to arrive, plenty of time for me to head south and catch a ferry back to the continent, where it was bound to be safer. My anger had abated slightly and I whistled softly for my dogs, Kaleb and Bruinen. There was a quiet, answering bark that I recognised as Bruinen. Heading in the direction I'd heard him in I wished that it wasn't so damn dark.

There was a sudden shifting underneath my feet and before I knew what was happening the ground fell away from beneath me.

I left out a short yelp of surprise but the fall wasn't that far and the only hurt I sustained was a bruised backside, dirty hands and dented pride for the second time that day. Sighing I wiped my hands on my dress and it was only then that the stench hit me. It was so powerful my eyes watered and I coughed violently, feeling the strong urge to vomit. It was the smell of putrefying flesh, and I scrambled backwards in horror, praying that I hadn't disturbed a grave. Kaleb and Bruinen came at that moment, padding down into the small hole I was sitting in and greeted me with wagging tails and a dead hare. I patted their heads distractedly, but I was concentrating on what that awful smell was. I got up and felt my way blindly forwards until my outstretched hands came into contact with a rough stone wall, damp with mildew and mould.

I took out my piece of flint and scraped it across the wall hoping it wasn't too damp to create a spark. I felt around on the ground for wood and my fingers finally closed over a branch. Holding it next to the wall I ran the flint down the wall again and again until finally a spark jumped on to the branch and it started to smoulder. Grateful at my success I waited patiently until eventually I had a torch with which to see. I held it up and now I could see I was by some sort of building. I crouched down to where the smell was strongest. Set into the side of the wall was a small iron grille that had previously been covered by the soil I had unknowingly shifted.

"Hello?" I called out quietly. Not really expecting a reply I almost trod on Kaleb's tail when I heard an answering groan.

There was the sound of shuffling and in the dark I noticed a pair of eyes gleaming back at me. I let out a small scream.

"H-hel-help me," croaked a voice.

I held the torch closer and gasped in horror at what I saw. A woman, a Woad I amended, (seeing her blue tattoos), was held inside a cage and from the looks of it she wouldn't last much longer. She was weak, dehydrated, and her fingers were bent unnaturally. Just as I was about to reply, there was the sound of voices, and the heavy tramp of soldier's feet. Bruinen was growling a warning and I backed away from the grille.

"I'll be back," I promised and then hurried back to the safety of the woods, hounds at my feet, wondering how all of a sudden my life had become so complicated.

That night I dreamed of drums in the dark and a woman's voice screaming.

* * *

By daylight I could see that I was in a forest close to the house of an obviously wealthy roman. Unfortunately it also seemed as though he had gone mad, for what kind of sane human kept people locked in a dungeon underground?

That night I returned to where I had first found the woman, carrying food and water. The grille was too small for me to pass the water pouch through so instead the woman used her last reserves of strength to move closer to the grille. I poured the water through the grille into her cupped hands a little at a time and she managed to have enough to sate her thirst. Her voice was still rough but not as cracked as it had been and on the third day she managed to tell me her name.

"Guinevere," I whispered back, careful never to raise my voice to alert an Roman guards. "That's a lovely name." She managed a smile as I poked cooked hare through the grill holes.

"I'm Ymma," I said gently. I pointed to my two hounds. "Bruinen and Kaleb."

She looked at me strangely. "You are a foreigner?"

I nodded, unsure as to how much I should tell her.

"And yet you would do this for me?"

I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Contrary to popular belief not all foreigners are completely heartless. We aren't all crazy either."

Guinevere smiled and chewed a piece of hare thoughtfully. "Then where do you come from?"

I wasn't prepared to answer that question. I had already given away enough by revealing my name, telling her I was a Saxon was perhaps not the wisest decision, especially when my people were now invading her country. Instead, I changed the subject.

"They have not noticed you can now see the sky?"

She shook her head and I winced as she ran her broken fingers over the many injuries on her body.

"They take me out of the cell to torture me. They don't go far enough into the cell to notice."

That put an end to all conversation.

* * *

It was on the fifth day of my arrival that the drums became too loud to ignore. But now I couldn't just run, I had a responsibility to a woman who was lying in a moulding dungeon. Sitting down in a small grove I decided to take a reading. I cleared my mind, spoke the charm rhyme and asked my question.

'How can I save Guinevere?'

I threw the runes up into the air and then closing my eyes I picked three runes one at a time, having no time for a full reading. I drew Tír first. This meant a successful venture, an existence of truth and loyalty. I frowned. Would I have success saving Guinevere or did this indicate another journey of some sort?

My second lot was Beorc. One of my favourite runes, Beorc meant new growth, a time when motherly tenderness is called for. Now this one made sense. I smiled in relief; Guinevere would be saved but would need a lot of care and tenderness.

Smiling I drew my last rune. Lagu. My smile dropped slightly. This rune indicated rapid change for good or bad. I cursed to myself and gathered up my lots. I still had no idea how to save Guinevere and the runes were not predicting wonderful things. I made my way back to camp slowly in contemplation on how to rescue the Woad, when Kaleb's barking made me run quicker. I put my runes down next to the fire and hurried to the edge of the forest where the dogs were sitting.

I scratched their ears. "What is it boys?"

I crouched low in the tall grass, and spotted what Kaleb had been barking at. Men on horseback had arrived at the home of the Roman and I frowned. What good could come of more soldiers?

I squinted hard. From this distance it was hard to tell but they looked suspiciously liked Sarmation knights, the brave men Dathan had told me about in many of his tales. I watched curiously as one of the knights, a tall, practically bald man brought down the outside of the wall with a large battleaxe. They entered cautiously, and I smiled grimly, remembering the first time I had smelt that terrible stench.

It was ten minutes before they came out again, the leader, Arthur, I remembered, carrying Guinevere in his arms. I gave a whoop of joy and hugged my dogs, ecstatic to have her out of that prison. However, I must have been too loud as one of the knights on his horse glanced over towards the woods. I ducked down again and his eyes slid over my hiding place. I sighed in relief. That had been too close.

Arthur had placed Guinevere on the ground, calling for water, and I smiled, content to know that my friend was now getting all the care she warranted. I turned to head back to the woods and leave this place when a loud commotion drew my attention. The master of the house had come running to Arthur and his knights and I narrowed my eyes in disgust.

"Stop! Stop what you are doing!" He was so loud I could easily hear him from my position in the forest. Arthur swiftly rose to his feet.

"What is this madness?"

The roman looked taken aback at Arthur's harsh tone. "They are all pagans here!" He explained.

Bruinen growled. I agreed. What was wrong with being a pagan? One of the knights looked disdainfully down at the stocky man and I had to strain to hear what he said.

"So are we."

"They refuse to do the tasks God set out for them!"

The roman man was really annoying me. Perhaps if I was swift I could set the dogs on him and then make a quick escape. I was pulled from my musings and back into the conversation by angry shouting.

"You mean they refuse to be your serfs!" Arthur shouted.

"You are roman, you understand. And you are a Christian. You!" The man turned on his wife. "You kept them alive!"

And then he slapped her across the face.

One of the knights, whom I identified by his curly dark hair and handsome features as Lancelot, started to move forward angrily, but Arthur beat him too it. He punched the man in the face, and he fell down, Arthur's blade to his neck. Two of the guards rushed forward, but stopped seeing Arthur was very capable of decapitating their master, should they choose to take another step. Glaring up at Arthur, he narrowed his eyes.

"When we get to the wall, you will be punished for this heresy," he said angrily.

"Maybe I should just kill you now and seal my fate," murmured Arthur. At that moment though Arthur became distracted as some priests came over, and one of them started babbling, taking his attention away from the man on the ground. He removed his sword from the man's throat, and I sighed, the show was over.

Moving back into the woods I collected up my belongings. Stamping out the fire I packed my sack, adding my skinning daggers and flint stone to it, along with my rune lots, carefully wrapped up. I picked up my wooden staff and headed back to where I had left the dogs. The priests were nowhere to be seen, though the broken wall was now suspiciously walled back up. I could just see Guinevere in a wagon, lying unconscious on some skins, along with a small child.

There was another survivor? I was amazed that the boy had lasted down there. I shivered at the thought of being stuck in that dank hell.

I made to move off but it was then that the drumming began again. Damn. They were now very close, a day or two behind and I had wasted my head start. The knights looked worried too and this did not make for good news. If they were worried we didn't stand much chance.

If they were worried we didn't stand much chance. The man who had almost noticed me was talking to Arthur. I racked my head for a name and found one, Tristan. That was it, the great scout Dathan spoke of. He was pointing east towards a path that ran close to the woods. I sighed.

Great.

From the arm gestures it seemed as though they had no choice but to go east to escape my invading people. I had no choice but to wait till they went past me. I would be relatively unnoticed at the back, but if I went ahead no doubt Tristan would spot me and I really didn't want to be noticed. I smirked .So this was what my runes had been speaking of.

A journey? Yes, I was just about to undertake one.

Tender care? Well Guinevere had that now.

A rapid change for good or bad? I'd count ever-nearing Saxon hoards as a rapid change for the worse.

I took my pack off and lay back down in the grass, following Bruinen and Kaleb's example, and watched as the wagons and people passed by. From the sheer number of people I knew I was in for a long wait.

* * *

**Please read and review! Please write down any comments or ideas you have, a review is always welcome!**

General information:

**Woden. **Saxon god of death, battle, wisdom, discoverer of the runes.

**Tiw. **Saxon god of the Sky. The horse is his symbol.

**Eostre. **Saxon goddess of the dawn. She is a spring goddess.

**Hretha**. Saxon goddess of war.

**Frige**. Saxon goddess came to represent the earth as an _Earth Mother_

_Runes used in this chapter_:

**Lagu **can indicate rapid change good or bad. In spell work Lagu can be used to promote growth and healing, but one must be careful to control these processes. A safer rune to use for such things is Beorc.

**Beorc** may mean new growth, a time when motherly tenderness is called for. In spell work, it can be used to ensure the safety of a child or adult, to promote new growth or healing.

**Tír **means a successful venture, an existence of troth and loyalty. Guidance may be in the offering. In spell work, it can be used to gain success or to force someone to obey a legal agreement.

**Cén **can mean a need to be creative; to generate the energy needed to ensure one's health. It can also indicate passions and desires. In spell work it can be used as a rune of warding.


	2. Cornered

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

Q. How many people can travel with a group of knights to escape an army of invading Saxons?

A. Too damn many.

I shifted uncomfortably in the grass. I'd waited an hour for these people to walk past and my fingers and feet were tingling with pins and needles. Judging that there was a big enough gap to continue on safely I finally got up, stretching numb muscles in thanks at the ability to finally be able to move.

I began to walk slowly through the woods, softly humming one of my favourite songs that the bards had told around the campfire when we had a village festival.

'_I've never known such misery since I became his wife._

_Abandoned by a husband who sailed off to save his life._

_A victim of a bitter feud he had to leave me here,_

_And hide me deep within these woods where I must live in fear.'_

So I admit it wasn't a very happy song but the tune was lovely and I sang in time with my footsteps. I was interrupted by a shriek from the clouds and I looked up to see a bird of prey, a hawk, circling overhead. Paying it no heed I continued on, my dogs deciding to join in with me on the chorus.

"Alright, alright," I muttered sarcastically. "I'm not _that_ bad."

The hawk shrieked again and I glared at it. "And you can be quiet too."

The Saxon drumming began once more. I threw my hands up in disgust. "Oh fine, fine, I'll be quiet!"

* * *

The villagers made camp at nightfall and grateful for the break I sent the hounds off to find food. Making a fire, I placed my bedding down on the ground and decided that a little spying would not be amiss. Discarding my pack and staff I crawled as close as I dared to the biggest fire I could see and climbed up the nearest tree. I now had a perfect view of the camp from my vantage point. I could not see my own fire however, so at least I knew I would not be detected. Most people were asleep and only those on guard would be awake. I suspected that was just Arthur and his knights.

There was only one knight by the fire, an unkempt young man with long hair and a beard. Leaning back against the trunk I counted the names of the knights off on my fingers trying to recall all of the names. Well, there was Arthur and I'd seen Lancelot and Tristan. There had been about twenty knights at one point according to Dathan but from the look of it many of them had fallen. Bors! Now that was another name I remembered but I had not seen a man to fit it. I bit my lip; I only had four out of the seven that still lived.

There was movement below me and I inched my way along the branch I was on, peering through the leaves. All of the knights had assembled by the fire, warming their hands and talking and laughing. I listened, tuning out much of what they said. Wine, women and food. I rolled my eyes. It seemed the conversations of men the world over were exactly the same.

However, I did catch the rest of their names. Dagonet was the man with the axe. From this view I could see he had a scar running down one of his eyes and I shook my head in disbelief. He was lucky he had not been blinded. The man who had been at the fire before was named Gawain and the knight sitting next to him was Galahad. Finally I spotted Bors and smiled. I remembered Dathan telling me he was as famed for his fighting as he was for the number of bastard children he had produced.

I'm not sure how long I sat in that tree; needless to say parts of my anatomy was becoming numb. Finding nothing else of use out I began to make my way down slowly and quietly, careful not to alert the knights to my presence. It was then that I heard Bruinen bark. I stilled, hoping the knights had not noticed. Sadly, it was not to be so.

"Did you hear that?" asked Tristan.

I prayed desperately. '_No, no one else heard that, it was just a figment of your imagination. Please, please, no-one have heard..._'

"Yes," said Gawain. "Probably just a wolf."

Galahad shifted closer to the fire. "This place just gets better and better."

"Better a wolf than a Saxon," Dagonet muttered.

"Well whatever it was, keep your eyes open and make sure it doesn't come close to the camp. The last thing we need is more of the villagers dying," said Arthur sagely.

With that, the conversation shifted back to other topics and I resumed my climb down the tree. As I walked back to my own fire, I knew I would have to be more careful. The hounds greeted me when I returned with wagging tails, but I scowled at Bruinen.

"You know you almost got us into trouble?" I said sharply.

Sensing I wasn't very happy, Bruinen lay down at my feet and whined softly. Unable to stay angry with him any longer I gave up trying and stroked his fur. He immediately perked up again and I sighed in exasperation.

"You have me all figured out," I said. "Just don't do that again. The last thing I need is for them to find me." I paused in my admonishment as my stomach grumbled.

"Now, what have you brought back for dinner?"

* * *

Two days later and the Saxon drumming seemed to me to be as loud as Thunor's thunder.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse and it was bitterly cold, the rain coming down in sheets. I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter, grateful for the warm lining of rabbits fur. The ground beneath my feet had become muddy and this made walking harder for all of us – the wagons in front of me had slowed down as the villagers gradually slowed their pace. Of course the knights had no such problem, being seated on horses, and I knew that they knew the Saxons would soon be upon them if the pace did not quicken.

The dogs on the other hand were thoroughly enjoying themselves. They didn't mind the rain and delighted in wiping muddy paws upon my clothing, shaking their sodden fur next to me and throughly getting me dirty and damp, much to my exasperation.

Finding dry wood for a fire was a task near impossible – though the knights had managed to get some and had a roaring fire of their own.

I scowled.

It seemed as though I would have to steal fire from under their noses as I was loath to part with my wooden staff. Not pleased with the prospect I sat on the damp grass until I could no longer stand the cold, and shivers were racking my body.

"Fine!" I shouted, shaking my fist at the sky. "If that's the way you want to be. Just don't expect to come crawling back to me in the end!"

A bolt of lightening lit up the sky in reply and I sighed irritably, stalking over to where the smell of roasting rabbit was coming. My stomach growled in response, burbling its request for nourishment as I kneeled behind a large bush, parting the leaves for a better view. Once again the knights were around the fire and there was no way I could get to the fire without arousing their attention. I sighed. I might as well have danced naked in front of them with a large sign saying 'Come get me.'

What I needed was a distraction. Smirking I turned to Bruinen and Kaleb, who were lying on the floor next to me, ears cocked and alert.

"Boys, I need you to do a favour for me…"

* * *

There was the sudden sound of frightened horses braying in the night and the knights stood as one, hands already on the swords hanging at their waists.

"What do you think it is?" asked Galahad, turning to Arthur.

"I don't know but we'd better see what it is before the whole camp wakes up."

He turned to face the rest of the knights and split them so that now only Tristan, Dagonet and Bors remained by the fire, no doubt incase it was a Saxon trap and they decided to attack whilst they were all gone.

I smiled. Now I only had to deal with three knights.

And then my smile grew wider as a group of peasant folk came rushing up to the knights, completely overwhelming them. It seemed any hopes Arthur had had about the camp not being disturbed were dashed. Mostly they were complaining about the unholy racket the horses were kicking up.

It sounded like wolves were ravaging them but I knew Bruinen and Kaleb (though scaring the souls out of the poor animals) would not physically harm them. The knights were attempting to placate the villagers but they looked uncomfortable and out of their depth, more used to killing than appeasing. Whilst they gently herded the peasants back to their caravans I crept closer to the fire and spied a large branch sticking out of the burning flames.

Perfect.

I dashed as quickly as I could towards the fire and grabbed the end of the branch. Fortunately it wasn't too large and I quickly ran back to the shelter of the trees, flaming branch in both hands, my eyes darting around looking for trouble.

I found the only eyes on me were those of that thrice-cursed bird of the knight Tristan. It stared at me for a few moments and then turned its head back to accept the meat offered to it by its master, who luckily was facing in the opposite direction from me.

Relieved it hadn't given me away I beat a hasty retreat. By the time I reached the safety of the thick foliage the knights were heading back to the fire, the grumbling peasants disappearing back to makeshift beds and rough sacks thrown on cold ground.

Not stopping for them to spot me I raced back to my own camp and laid the branch reverently down onto the ground, carefully piling the kindling around it, watching as the fire started. Knowing I now had a source of heat I put two of my fingers in my mouth and whistled for Bruinen and Kaleb to stop whatever they were doing and come back, and so I sat for five minutes waiting patiently for them to return. Bruinen was the first- emerging on my left, wagging his tail and with a gleam in his eye. If a dog could have laughed I am sure he would have been in fits. I smirked.

"You seem to have had too much fun, my friend," I said, reaching to ruffle the fur round his neck. Just then Kaleb came bounding in from the right, his eyes shining, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He greeted me with a soft bark.

"Way too much fun."

* * *

That night I didn't sleep until the early hours of the new morning arrived and so I only snatched four hours of precious sleep, before the camp began to wake and make ready to move on.

The reason?

The knights had been edgy and alert ever since my little diversion, and had taken to patrolling around the camp and (in my opinion) too close to the edge of the wood for my comfort. Fearing wolves had attacked the horses the knights had heightened the security of the camp, determined not to let a villager fall prey to what they thought were ravenous beasts.

I snorted.

They had obviously not rationalised things properly; wolves would have torn those horses apart in a matter of moments, or at least done permanent damage to the muscles of their legs and soft underbellies. My dogs had only spooked them, had not even made to sink fangs into horseflesh. Obviously, the constant threat of Saxon attack was getting to them.

Progress was faster today, most of the mud having hardened now, the rain having stopped during the night. Now the ground was slowly freezing, the temperature taking a sudden drop. Snow was most likely on it's way and I knew this would further panic the knights, knowing snow would hamper the speed they made and allow the Saxon hoards to further encroach upon them.

Walking gives one a lot of time to think and I often found my thoughts straying to Guinevere and to what had become of her and the little boy I had seen rescued from that damned dungeon.

Being situated at the back of the group meant that I could see no sign of the Woad or the child, though sometimes I caught a glimpse of the wagon they had been travelling in. They had been in an awful shape when they'd been taken out and I wondered if Guinevere had let anyone fix her fingers or if they were still the mangled, broken mess they had been in before. She had seemed resilient enough and it would not have surprised me if she'd had her fingers fixed and was now itching to use a bow once more. It seemed unlikely though that the knights would let her.

Unless, I pondered, if Arthur had a soft spot for her. I smirked. Now that would be interesting to watch.

* * *

When night fell it was snowing lightly.

What I really wanted was a bath but there was absolutely no way I was about to bathe in the frigid waters of the small river that ran through the woods and which I knew fed into a large lake. I would rather be dirty but warm than cold and clean. As I headed further through the woods trying to find a suitable spot to camp I found myself walking past the wagon where Guinevere had been laid.

Crouching, I peered through the trees cautiously and strained my eyes to see if I could see the Woad woman or the child. It seemed as though a woman was washing by the light of a candle in the wagon, attended by another lady but all I could see were silhouettes and shadows and unable to see if either of the two women was Guinevere I allowed my eyes to scan over new terrain.

Suddenly my eyes alighted upon a young man, shrouded in shadows, sitting at the base of a tree trunk. He was extremely good looking and I looked closer trying to make out any definite characteristics. Recognition hit me: it was Lancelot; the handsome knight of Arthur's whom it appeared was focused intently on something or someone. I followed his train of sight and it came to land squarely on the woman bathing in the wagon. I blushed slightly and rolled my eyes. It seemed Lancelot was preoccupied ogling the bathing woman and I berated myself for somehow putting the knights on a pedestal. They were, after all, men and I should not have expected any better of them.

Leaving Lancelot to his 'watch' I moved away, searching for a place to camp as unobtrusively as possible. I found one, quite close to the wagon with the bathers and settled down to sleep, which came easily to my weary body. It felt like I had only been asleep for a few moments before a scream rent the air. I sat bolt upright, immediately awake, and reached for my skinning daggers, which lay nestled in my pack. Grabbing one and placing the other into the belt around my tunic I reached for my staff, so that it was held in my other hand, and ran to the edge of the wood, Kaleb and Bruinen padding softly behind me.

What I saw I could not have imagined.

The fat roman lord, who had held Guinevere in the underground torture chamber, had the young boy child held close to him. His back was towards me but I could clearly see the dagger at the child's throat. Blood boiling, I cursed him in my native language and prayed to Woden to deal swiftly and justly with this crooked husk of a proper man.

Quickly giving orders to my hounds they left silently and swiftly whilst I headed over to where his two guards were standing, backs close to the nearby trees. They looked rather bemused by the entire situation, but I knew they could pose a serious threat if left conscious.

I raised the hood of my cloak as added camouflage and creeping behind them lowered my wooden walking staff. I arced it low to the ground, sweeping their feet off the forest floor. They gave short yells of surprise and landed in a heap on the ground.

Swiftly I kicked the nearest one in the only unprotected place on his body – his groin.

Hard.

He gave a soft groan and then his eyes rolled back into his head and he slipped into unconsciousness. Turning to the other one, I raised the staff and beat him about the face with it but he managed to grab hold of it and started pulling it towards him. I tugged at it as though trying to pull it away and then thrust backwards hard, so that it passed through his hands and hit his nose.

There was a sickening crack but I didn't dwell on it and hurried over to where the roman was standing.

Having dealt with the guards I could now focus on the boy. I saw Kaleb and Bruinen edging closer to him from both sides and then I whistled –the signal for them to begin. They rushed at him and before he knew what had happened they had sunk sharp teeth into his fleshy body. He dropped the boy and the knife in his surprise and I swiftly gathered the crying boy in my arms, murmuring softly to him in my native tongue, words I would sometimes sing to Alric when he was upset or troubled.

This served two purposes: one to calm him down, and the other to try and disguise the noise of my dogs mauling the man to death.

I glanced up at the sound of footsteps and knew I could not stay long. It had all happened in a few moments in reality, but to me it felt like an age. The knights were running and I had to disappear. Pulling away from the boy, I kissed his cheek and then pushed him in the direction of the footsteps, knowing the knights would be here at any moment.

Calling the dogs to me I left the scene as quickly as I could, leaving the broken and bleeding body of a man I despised on the floor and a young boy who I'd found a fondness for almost immediately.

I had taken but two steps into the woods when I heard the unmistakable voice of Arthur call out for me to stop. Heart pounding in my chest I stopped where I was, back to them, hood up, body poised to run. The dogs looked at me, muzzles stained red and hackles raised, prepared to defend their mistress. I shook my head almost imperceptibly, asking the dogs not to attack.

"Who are you?" Called Arthur. I debated my options. I could:

a) Try to out run the knights and their arrows

b) Stop and answer the questions, which would then mean they would find out I was Saxon and probably kill me

c) Lie

d) Beg for mercy – something I knew I was far too proud to do

e) Cast a disguising spell with the runes - but that needed time and concentration

It seemed C was my best option. Unfortunately the downside was this: I am a terrible liar.

I knew they would immediately see through whatever scheme I concocted. Left with no choice I decided I would do what I did best.

Distract them and run.

And pray to the gods that they couldn't catch me.

* * *

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	3. Power of the Runes

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

**To those who do not know, Ymma's name is Saxon in origin and is the old version of the modern English version Emma. Ymma (in my fic at least) is pronounced Yima.**

* * *

My heart sank.

As the great god Thunor once said as he faced the decision to either wear Frige's dress or forever lose his beloved hammer:

Shit.

I turned around slowly. The knights had their weapons drawn, a mixture of wariness, suspicion and outright distrust painted on their features.

How was I ever to escape?

It was then I suddenly spied a woman in a blue dress, standing next to Arthur with her bow out. Her face looked vaguely familiar. Surely she couldn't be...

"Guinevere?" I asked hesitantly. I watched as her eyes widened and she lowered her bow.

"Ymma?" she replied incredulously, trying to peer at my features under my hood.

I broke into a grin. She was alive and well, and from the look of it her fingers were much better.

"You're alright!" I said relieved, but I remained where I was, anxious not to go near the knights and their weapons. As far as I was concerned they could stay as far away as they liked. Even the dogs seemed to recognise her and they wagged their tails.

Noticing I hadn't moved Guinevere made to move towards me, but was stopped by Arthur's hand on her shoulder.

"You know this man?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms indignantly. Wonderful. I was surprised he'd made the mistake of getting my gender wrong when he'd heard my name; but then it was a foreign one and perhaps he was slightly hard of hearing.

I snorted contemptuously. I knew my years in the wilderness hadn't made me one of Rome's beauties, but I had expected Arthur to be a gentleman at least. It appeared Dathan's expectations and mine were too high. Guinevere laughed at Arthur and I glowered. She thought this was funny did she?

"No Arthur," she said, her eyes shining. "I do not know this man, but I do know this woman."

It was then I realised my hood was shadowing my face and that I was also dressed in men's garb, so that I would be unrecognisable as a woman. I scowled. But why should I be worried about whether they thought I was a woman or not? I was far more worried about the approaching Saxons and trying to hide my identity then whether they got my sex wrong.

"I'm sorry," said Arthur, turning from a grinning Guinevere, to face me. "But I could not see your face and your apparel…" he gestured helplessly in my direction. "I was mistaken in my assumption."

I nodded, pleased at the apology, but said nothing.

Guinevere started towards me again, but Arthur's voice rang out again, stilling her actions.

"But you have still not answered my question, Guinevere."

Guinevere glared at him, knowing he was deliberately getting at her for laughing at him. Personally I thought I saw a gleam in his eye that wanted her to be safe, that he was worried about her walking up to a relative stranger, but perhaps that was the romantic in me. It was clear that no one else saw it. Knowing we could be here for a while, I motioned for the dogs to sit down.

"This," said Guinevere, "is Ymma. She helped me whilst I was in the…" I saw her pause as she tried to say the word, the grimace of pain and the hint of revulsion which tainted her words. "Whilst I was in the dungeon. She kept me alive."

Arthur looked over at me, and I knew he was seeing me in a different light.

"You were able to keep her alive?"

I nodded again, and then decided there would be no harm in them hearing my voice. They would not hear it again after I escaped.

"I accidentally shifted some of the earth next to the dungeon when I was walking past, which allowed me to have direct access in to the cell where Guinevere was. I fed her, sated her thirst as best I could." I shrugged. "Anybody would have done it."

He motioned to the dead, mauled Roman on the floor and the two unconscious guards.

"And this? Was this your justice too?" I heard the accusation in his voice and bristled at the tone.

"Why, should I not have intervened?" I asked angrily, ignoring the voice in the back of my head, which told me not to get riled and anger anybody with weapons. "I suppose I should have let him slaughter that poor little boy?"

I breathed in and counted to 10, trying to calm myself down.

Damn Arthur, damn the Saxons, damn Dathan for dying and leaving me alone on this stupid island. '_Gods_', I quietly prayed, '_Now would be a really good time to help me._'

I knew Arthur was speaking and that I should have listened to what he was saying, but I tuned him out. Damn Roman and his stupid moral beliefs, I didn't even know why he was angry, he hated the Roman as much as I did, but perhaps I had unknowingly offended him, by ending a Roman's life with two dogs instead of with dignity such as with an arrow or a sword. I was too cross and frightened to care either way.

Guinevere was defending me and I could hear some of the other knights starting to join in the argument.

'_Please,_' I prayed. '_If you can make that argument into a useful distraction I will be eternally grateful.'_

It appeared someone was finally listening to me.

Their argument gradually escalated, and I knew that Woden was using Thorn as the curse rune and Ís as the standstill rune to escalate the argument so that what could have been a small comment turned into a blazing row. Which was just what I needed.

Unnoticed, I edged away into the forest, until I was completely covered by the undergrowth. I ran over to my camp and grabbed my belongings before Woden's magik started to fade. I felt a twinge of guilt for using Guinevere and the knights like that, but I stamped it out, knowing that it was either them or me, and I was far too scared with what they might do to me to stay: to stay and see if Arthur was the kind of man Dathan thought he was or if that had only been an idealistic assumption. Anger had turned to cold fear, and though I knew I was probably blowing things completely out of proportion, my legs kept moving, driving me onwards.

'_Scared,_' I mocked myself, laughing derisively in my head as I hurried through the undergrowth, down towards the large iced lake, hoping to cross it before the knights started to follow me.

'_Face it, Ymma; you're just a scared little girl, who has to rely on her dogs and her gods to do anything,'_ sneered the voice in my head.

'_Shut up!'_ I told myself fiercely, and then realized I was talking to myself. Putting it all down to lack of sleep I realised I could hear the sound of hoof beats coming to the right of me. My pulse quickened - had the magik worn off that quickly?

I had been wrong, the rider was on the worn path next to the forest, not in it, and I was safe. My eyes narrowed though as I realised it was a knight –Tristan to be exact, and that I had not counted properly when I had looked at the assembled knights with their weapons out. Obviously Tristan had been scouting the terrain for Arthur and I cursed myself for missing out the knight who had the keenest eyesight and the sharpest hearing.

But I was lucky.

He passed me by and I sent a silent message of thanks to Frige, the sustainer of life and Woden. It seemed I would be having to do a lot of grovelling when I was safe. Knowing he would immediately break up the argument the knights and Guinevere were having I quickened my pace, Bruinen and Kaleb, running with me as I ducked under branches.

'_Running scared'_, came the nasty voice. I ignored my conscience and hurried on heedlessly, my fear stronger than any other emotion right now.

I soon reached the lake, and slowed down to cross it, knowing I had to be careful not to make it crack. I took a few hesitant steps but when it remained firm I walked more confidently across. I knew if I was caught now there would be no escape. Either side of the lake were sheer dark rock, and I hurried as quickly as I could over the slippery ice, constantly aware of danger.

About 10 minutes later I finally reached the end of the lake and stopped to enter into the beginning of the forest again. However, the trees here were sparse and few, and it was a stretch to even call it a forest. I had forgotten how barren this part of the land was in winter and as much as a rest would be welcome I knew I could not stay long, having no protection against prying eyes. Taking a swig of the water nestled in my pouch and giving some to the dogs, who had seemed to find the ice exhilarating instead of tiring, as I did, I pondered my next move.

If I could just keep ahead of the knights I could easily reach one of the ports down on the coast and catch a boat across to the continent and continue my nomadic wanderings. It all depended on my timing and the condition of the sea. I knew that sailors were loath to travel in such conditions and infact sailing in the winter months was forbidden, everyone knowing how bad the seas could be. It didn't matter now; all that mattered was keeping out of the way of everyone who would stop me escaping.

I closed up the pouch and started to walk again when there was an almighty crack behind me.

I started, and turning I saw the knights and the peasants from the wall frozen on the ice, staring at each other in horror as they thought that they would be swallowed up into the icy depths of the frigid lake. How had they gotton there so fast? I stared at them, powerless to do anything when suddenly there was another crack, and this time I realised it wasn't the ice breaking.

It was the sound of the Saxon drums. They had arrived.

It appeared I had not made as good time as I had thought.

What to do, what to do?

Clearly the knights and Arthur were going to fight, I saw them grabbing their bows as Arthur directed another peasant to take charge. I frowned as I saw Guinevere emerge from the wagon and walk to stand next to the knights, bow in hand. I sighed.

Would that woman never learn to stay away from danger?

I leaned against a tree as the peasants trouped past me, not batting an eyelid at what I was doing there or how I was there. Most of them looked bone weary and I doubted if some of them even saw me.A wagon rolled past me, and I saw the frightened face of the little boy I had rescued stare despairingly at Dagonet, who raised his hand in farewell.

I couldn't fight. I had neither bow nor arrows and besides I wasn't trained in archery. I could use my staff and knives if need be, but the skills were rudimentary and would be no use on the ice anyway, unless it was in hand to hand combat. I was a healer, a rune caster, a nomad not a fighter.

What good could I do?

I blinked. A rune caster, that was it. I could use a spell to help defeat the Saxons.

For a moment I doubted. Would the runes work against the people Woden had originally gifted them to? Still, I had to try; this was no time for moral dilemmas. I laughed to myself as I realised my fear and anger had gone, replaced by a strong sense of urgency, but tempered by an odd calmness, as though I knew everything would be alright.

Gathering my runes to me I sat down on the ground and crossed my legs. I was about to close my eyes when the sounds of arrows whistling through the air reached me. I looked up to see Arthur and his knights launch a volley into the air, their targets the Saxons on the outer edges. It seemed the plan was to make them herd together like sheep and thus make the ice crack.

I frowned. The ice was fairly strong and I had reservations about how much weight it would take to fracture it, but turning back to my runes I tuned out the battle, knowing I would need all my powers of concentration on the task at hand.

What I was attempting I shouldn't have even been trying. Only the most adept runester, a master could possibly do this and I was most certainly not a master. I knew the chances of failure were high. Still, I knew I could not allow the Saxons to ravage the land and if this meant trying to save the knights I feared I would do so. Besides, I owed it to Guinevere to at least attempt to do something.

Exhaling gradually, I slowed my breathing down and cleared my mind of everything save the target, which were of course the knights and Guinevere. I visualised each figure in turn, reminding myself of his look, personality, clothing, voice etc. The picture had to be complete and near perfect for the spell to work. Concentrating on the group I then tried to fall into the meditative trance, being careful to maintain visualisation. I started to feel my mind succumb to the spell.

There was a sudden shout of rage and pain and I was rudely shoved from whatever plane my mind had managed to achieve, back to the frozen land.

Breathing harshly I started in shock and dismay as I realized all my work had been wasted. Looking out onto the ice I saw what had shaken me from my reverie. Dagonet had run forwards, with no care for his own personal safety and started smashing at the ice with the rather large axe he owned. However brave and noble he thought he was being though, it left him wide open to Saxon arrows and I bit my lip as I saw he already had two arrows embedded in him. Arthur was running towards him, but not fast enough to stop the next arrow from slicing through the air and sinking its sharp head into the knights flesh, puncturing the skin and causing Dagonet to stager forwards and slip down through the broken chunks of ice into the frigid waters below.

I sank my head into my hands. I had failed miserably.

There was another shout and I saw the Saxons running away from the rapidly cracking ice, seeing most of their comrades being sucked under. Bors was dashing madly towards both Arthur and Dagonet, clutching his shield, going to defend his friends. Arthur was struggling to pull out Dagonet's rapidly failing body and in that instant I knew what I would have to do.

"Kaleb, Bruinen! Fetch!"

The dogs raced towards the three men, who were now rapidly in danger of falling prey to the water themselves. The ice was breaking underneath them quickly now and there were still some Saxon archers who were firing still. Bors was shielding them as best he could, but I knew that unless Bruinen and Kaleb could reach them in time they would be dead men.

"Stay with me!" I heard Bors hoarse voice float on the wind.

And then a startled yelp as my hounds reached them, sunk teeth into whatever appendages they could find and raced back towards me. It would have been laughable if the situation had not been so grave. Bruinen had clamped his teeth down onto Arthur's arm and Kaleb had grabbed Bors' shield. In shock at the sudden appearance of the beasts Bors had almost reflexively clamped one hand on his shield and one on Dagonet's form. Arthur meanwhile, still holding onto Dagonet with his free arm was being dragged by his other across the icy surface, his face a mass of confusion and disbelief.

The other knights were still continuing to finish off the remaining Saxons but it would have been to much to hope that they would not have noticed. I ran towards the edge of the lake, knowing that whilst it was easy enough to pull three humans on ice, it would not be such an easy feat for them to do so on land. The dogs skidded to a halt in front of me and I placed my hands on Dagonet's body and wrenched out each arrow. There would be no time for a visualisation and there was certainly no place for tenderness, not if I was to save him.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" yelled Bors, trying to wrench his shield from Kaleb's fangs and at the same time wrench my hands off his friend.

"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur growled, battling in vein against Bruinen who was playing tug of war with Arthur's mail clad arm.

"If you don't_ shut up_," I bellowed, "he's going to _die_!"

There was a sudden deadly silence, not even the sound of arrows or the screams of men dying as my voice echoed around the lake, bouncing from one side of sheer rock to the other. In that moment I found the power to call up the rune I needed to save Dagonet. I focused on the knight, knowing that there was precious little time left. No time for the trance, no time to visualise the target or rune in my mind, only the hope and will of myself left and the power of my emotions.

That was when it happened.

The runic energy suddenly began flowing up my chest and into my arms, down into my fingertips. I started to shake as the fiery force pulsed through me, and I found it increasingly hard to concentrate or even direct what was happening. It was completely overpowering but I knew I had to maintain some sort of grasp on the magik, otherwise I didn't want to think on the consequences. I felt myself sign the shape of the rune Ur in the air with my index finger and then spread my palms flat on Dagonet's chest, feeling the magik ebb from me and dart into the near lifeless body. I felt exhausted and completely out of control and knew that my shaking was worsening. It was a struggle to even keep my palms flat on the knight's body.

Someone was yelling something and I could feel hands trying to wrench me away from Dagonet, but I forced my palms to fist into his thickly padded clothing as I tried to maintain the connection. There was only one job left to do and that was to make sure the might of the rune bound with Dagonet. This would make sure that any further healing continued even if I let go of him. Conjuring up the last reserves of my mental energy I gave one final push and felt the power finally drain away from me.

Released from its hold I collapsed on top of Dagonet, before being ripped away by Tristan, his eyes boring into mine. I was dragged over a little way, my back towards the others so that I could not see any thing except Tristan and the sky.

"What have you done?" he asked quietly, but the steely quality to his voice was not lost on me, as exhausted as I was.

I smiled wearily but said nothing; I couldn't have done if I tried.

My energy was completely sapped and I felt as though I'd been running for hundreds of miles on nothing but fresh air and adrenaline. I wanted to flop back to the ground, but the knight was holding me up by my arms, staring at me, waiting for an answer. I lay bonelessly in his grip and finally, knowing my work was done, I allowed myself to succumb to the darkness that had slowly been creeping up on me.

The last thing I saw were Tristan's dark eyes gazing into mine. Then everything went black.

* * *

**Many thanks to my reviewers, who I hope will now review this next chapter. Pretty please? **

**And oi you! If you're lurking, come out of the shadows and drop me a line just to let me know what you think!**

_General information:_

**Woden. **Saxon god of death, battle, wisdom, discoverer of the runes. Magikian god.

**Tiw. **Saxon god of the Sky. The horse is his symbol.

**Eostre. **Saxon goddess of the dawn. She is a spring goddess.

**Hretha**. Saxon goddess of war.

**Frige**. Saxon goddess came to represent the earth as an _Earth Mother. _She is a preserver of life.

_Runes used in this chapter_:

**Thorn** can mean, "look before you leap," or proceed with caution. It is a dangerous rune to be used in magic but can be used for defensive spells although it is commonly seen used in mythology and folklore in curses.

**Ís **can mean, "beware, watch your step," or it can indicate one's life has come to a standstill. In spell work, it can be used to bring activities of some kind to a complete halt, to ice it over.

**Ur **represents the cosmic bovine Audhumla and therefore represents the vitality of the life force or mæen, although more likely Ur represents the physical aspect of mæen called might. In divination it usually represents strength will be called for or fierceness and the courage to use these qualities. In magic it can be used to bring about strength and physical health.


	4. Dark Conversations

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

**Please note that there are a few words of low Saxon used in this chapter. The translations are provided at the bottom of the page.**

* * *

It was evening when I woke.

I found myself lying in a bed in a small, nondescript room. There was a fire in the hearth and a burning torch in a bracket on the wall, providing the only light, so that the shadows played on the wall, the fire casting dancing shapes, sliding into dark corners where they congregated, merging into one another. The room was plain, a few shelves with some jars resting on them, a wooden chair and table. All in all the place looked fairly unused. A small wind rippled the cloth that hung above a small window and I shivered, snuggling further under the rough blankets.

I closed my eyes deciding that the room wasn't worth much more investigation and tried to return to sleep.

No such luck.

Sighing, I decided that I might as well get up and find out where I was. I frowned; the last thing I could remember was healing Dagonet and then being dragged off by Tristan. Obviously there had been some sort of journey, which I must have been unconscious for.

I placed my bare feet on the cold floor and still slightly shaky I made my way over to the window. I pulled aside the cloth and peered out. The moon was out and provided enough illumination for me to see that I was in some sort of village. It was fortified by a wooden wall running around it and if I squinted my eyes I could make out dark figures, standing on towers guarding it.

I smiled ruefully. It seemed as though I would have to face the music this time.

There would be no opportunity for escape. I glanced at the wall again. Yes, no room for cowardice at all.

Rubbing my arms for warmth I wandered over to the chair and tables, finding the top layer of my clothing lying neatly folded on the tabletop. Feeling my cheeks warm, I thanked the gods that no-one had decided to remove anymore of my clothes. I pulled the large top over my smaller cotton vest and searched around in the gloom, finding my pack, cloak and boots. My staff and hunting knives were gone and I realised they'd taken the opportunity to rid me of the only weapons I had.

Well they weren't stupid; I had to give them credit. I fingered the cloak and wondered where they'd put Bruinen and Kaleb. It wasn't like the dogs to leave me voluntarily and a bolt of fear shot through me. I hoped to Thor they were unharmed.

There was the sound of raucous laughter from downstairs and I pulled on my boots and crept over to the wooden door. Pulling it open cautiously I winced as it creaked, but the whining of the door was covered as someone decided to start singing loudly, and soon other, drunken voices joined in. It sounded like I was in a tavern of some sort. I crept out into the darkened corridor. There was only darkness to my left and so I turned right, heading towards the light, whereupon I came across some steps, leading downwards.

Keeping in the shadowed side of the wall I walked down them slowly, thankful my strength was mostly returned to me. The spell had obviously knocked me for six, which was hardly surprising seeing that I had not had the proper training to have done such difficult rune casting. Stepping off the last step I found myself in a large room, towards the back and to the right. No one was looking in my direction and I found an empty table in a dark corner where I could sit and watch without being observed.

My guess had been correct - I was in a tavern. My eyes found the knights, laughing and joking in the middle of the room, it appeared they'd all drunk far too much and were currently exchanging crude jokes. Bors was the one 'singing' – and I use that term lightly, swinging his tankard this way and that, and a couple of the male villagers, who also seemed rather inebriated were attempting to sing along. It was pretty full, and the young women serving had their hands full managing.

Most of them weren't actually handing out drinks but sitting on one mans knee or another, exchanging kisses or flirting with the customers. I spotted one woman, who was very pretty, with an infectious smile, battling in vain to give everyone what they wanted, while avoiding the more lecherous advances of Bors, who was try to smack her bottom every time she went past. She was laughing and I noticed that Bors wasn't the only one who had his eyes on her. Lancelot was also sneaking glances at her, but then Lancelot watched every woman, so it was hardly surprising. In the short time I'd been watching he'd already managed to snag one rather voluptuous barmaid, who was sitting on his knee, and was making cow eyes with a willowy, young brunette who had a very low neck line, sweeping under some tables nearby.

My line of sight was suddenly blocked by a figure standing in front of me. I glared at the woman, who proceeded to draw out a chair and seat herself opposite me.

"No, go ahead," I said, snappishly. "Please come and sit with me."

Guinevere just grinned. "Now Ymma," she said. "There is no need to be like that." I rolled my eyes.

"There is _every_ reason to be like that."

"You're just sore that you actually couldn't mange to slip off again," she said knowingly and motioned to a young woman, (who was not being pawed), to bring drinks.

I sat in silence, glowering. Guinevere said nothing, just smirked and I found myself growing even more irritated. The barmaid returned and placed two tankards of mead in front of us and I picked mine up, tasting the liquor with a soft sigh.

It had been a while since I had had alcohol, probably not since Dathan had died. He would often take us into a small village and we would spend the evening at the inn or whatever they had, drinking. Or rather, he bought the alcohol and let me have some when he was too drunk to protest about me trying it.

I rather liked the taste, sweet and smooth, though this one I drank now was drier than I normally liked. But mead was mead and as I sipped it, I savoured the taste, wondering if I could buy some and put it in my water bottle instead for my return journey home. Of course that was reliant on my leaving. Which was not happening in the near future, if the look on Guinevere's face was anything to go by.

"Yes?" I said, wiping my mouth on my tunic sleeve.

"The Saxons are nearly here," she stated.

I laughed. "You've only just noticed?"

She shot me a look. "I've just spoken with Arthur. It will not be long, perhaps a day or so. My people will fight and Arthur will as well. I'm not so sure about his knights though, they have nothing keeping them here."

I took another sip of mead. "And Arthur does?"

She blushed and I noticed her glancing over to where the tall knight sat, laughing over something Gawain had just said.

"He's not told them yet," I said, knowing that the knights would not be joking if their leader had informed them of what was about to take place.

Guinevere nodded. "He is giving them tonight. It's what they need, after all that they have done. And if they go tomorrow then they go and there is nothing Arthur or anybody can do to stop them. But if they stay he wants to give them a night for rest and relaxation."

I grinned. "And silly girls and drink?" I raised my tankard. "Well, I'll drink to that. Here's to freedom, men and mead," I said and knocked my drink against Guinevere's, who was smiling. "Now," I said, my face once more becoming serious. "Where are my dogs?"

"Don't worry," she said lightly, "they are being kept safe by Dagonet."

I scrunched my face up in confusion. I had noticed the knight was not present at the tavern but had put it down to still being healed by the runes.

Guinevere explained. "Whatever you did to Dagonet certainly saved his life. When you collapsed your dogs went absolutely frantic, but then Dagonet woke up moments later and they suddenly seemed to calm down. They've been inseparable ever since."

Dagonet? I wondered. Then…ah, it all made sense. They'd sensed me in the remnants of the magik I'd worked upon Dagonet and knew they could trust him, if I'd saved him.

"How is Dagonet?" I enquired, wondering if he was back to full health yet.

"He's fine, but a little light-headed. The last thing he needs now is alcohol," said Guinevere, her lips curving upwards. "But what exactly did you do to him? He was dying from serious arrow wounds, the next thing I know, he is walking around like he wasn't even scratched." She looked at me closely. "Are you some sort of goddess?"

I snorted. "No, I am about as far from being divine as you can get. Long ago, my people," I explained, being careful to miss out exactly where I came from, "were gifted by the great god Woden with the ability to work the runes. If you use them correctly they can help you solve difficult situations, they can give comfort, or the answers to a problem. You can also see into the future a little bit, if you ask a specific question. But if you become skilled enough in reading the runes, you can also start casting spells. When Dagonet became hurt, I used the runes to heal him."

The Woad woman looked a little shocked, but then frowned. "And are you supposed to collapse at the end of it?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Technically I shouldn't have been able to perform that kind of spell, because it takes such intense concentration and only the really adept masters do healing spells on the dying. I am actually more surprised I have gotton away with only being left feeling weak and drained, the spell should have killed me."

"For one knight, you were willing to risk your life?"

I didn't really know what to say. Yes, I supposed if you looked at it that way, it did seem a bit strange, that a complete stranger would risk their life for someone they had only heard stories about, but then I would have done the same for anyone. If only I could have saved Dathan in the same way. Sadly, old age was not something even the master runesters could combat, and so I had let him go, unable to save the man I looked upon as a father.

"Yes," I said eventually. "But I would have done the same for anybody."

Guinevere looked at me with solemn eyes. "Then you have something to stay for."

I shook my head. "What I want is to leave."

She frowned and I knew I would not like whatever she said next.

"You would save one of their lives and then abandon them?"

I winced at the accusation in her voice, but held firm. "I am _not _abandoning anyone," I started to say, but then she cut me off.

"Is this what you do? Save people and then leave them to die a much crueller death than their original one?"

"Guinevere," I growled. "Stop it right now."

"No," she said stubbornly. "You saved me, you saved Dagonet. And now you are leaving us to be killed by the Saxons!"

"My staying will not affect whether you live or die," I said logically. "You are capable of defending yourselves, I on the other hand cannot. I heal, I don't kill."

"But I am not asking you to fight," she said, her eyes dark and angry.

"Then what _are_ you asking me for exactly?"

"To not be a coward and run. To heal those who are wounded when the battle comes," she snapped.

My anger got the better of me. "So really all I am to you is some healing machine, who with a snap of her fingers can make everyone feel better again!" I hit the table hard with the palm of my hand. "You think this is easy? What you are asking for is my life!"

Guinevere looked ready to argue but I shook my head.

"Oh you may say it won't be like that but you watch. It'll start off with healing minor injuries, sword gashes, reattaching fingers, that sort of thing. Then maybe putting missing limbs back onto a body. And then eventually you'll ask me to save someone who is dying. And I'll do it, because I can't just leave them to die. But then it'll happen again. And again. And you won't realise it, but soon I'll be saving someone every day, and then it becomes two people and the three and so on." I broke off, my voice quietening. "But one day I will die because I should not and will not be able to keep handling that sort of power." I looked the Woad in the eye. "And it will completely drain me of everything I have."

Guinevere was silent and I drained the last of my mead.

"This conversation is over. I leave as soon as I get my things back. That is final."

I stood abruptly and headed out into the night sky, ignoring her calling after me. I went out and bypassed the various villagers milling about, drinking ale and enjoying bawdy conversation. I was in no mood for company right now. I walked for a little while, not knowing really where I was going, but enjoying the coolness of the night and trying to get away from Guinevere's accusing words, which were still ringing in my ears.

I walked until I could no longer hear the tavern noises and found myself in a small graveyard. Each grave had a sword placed at the head and I shivered, knowing that I had trespassed into something that was private to the knights. Feeling like an intruder I quietly crept out and went round it, down further to a large oak, the only one I had seen so far inside the wall. I dropped down onto the damp grass and rested my back against the trunk and sighed.

When had life suddenly become so difficult?

_For one knight, you were willing to risk your life?_

'Yes, but you aren't prepared to do it for all of them. For the Britons. For the knights. For freedom.' I sighed and raked my hands through my hair.

_Then you have something to stay for_

'This isn't my fight,' I argued. 'This is not my home, these aren't my people. Why can you not just leave me in peace?'

_You would save one of their lives and then abandon them?_

'It nearly killed me. I can't help anyone if I'm dead.'

_Is this what you do? Save people and then leave them to die a much crueller death than their original one?_

'Am I really that selfish?' I wondered. 'Is it wrong to put your own life before others?'

_You saved me, you saved Dagonet. And now you are leaving us to be killed by the Saxons!_

'I am not,' I argued, but it sounded pathetic and petulant to my own ears. I pictured Dathan in my head, and silently asked for his guidance, trying to imagine his response to such a situation. But all he did was shake his head and look at me as if I'd somehow let him down. I closed my eyes and prayed. What I really wanted to do was a rune reading, but I was not sure what would happen if I used the runes again so soon after a major healing.

A bird cried just above me and I jumped at the sudden sound. Glaring upwards, I stared in disbelief at Tristan's hawk, eyeing me from its perch in the lowest branch above my head.

"What do you want?" I snapped. The bird merely ruffled its feathers and moved closer down the branch towards me.

"Look, just go away. Leave me alone."

The hawk tipped its head to one side and peered at me. I waved an arm in a gesture for it to fly off, but it took no notice and merely moved closer.

I folded my arms across my chest. "I'm not that interesting you know."

It twitched its head again and then settled down on the branch, just watching me, feathers tousling in the slight breeze.

I pushed back a strand of wayward hair behind my ear. "Damn bird."

I shivered and realised how cold it had gotton, the damp grass was numbing my body and I got up, stretching my stiff limbs.

Tristan's hawk shrieked and flapped its wings as if it was irritated that now it had gotton itself comfortable I was moving and spoiling all of its hard work.

I raised my hands, palms open, in a 'hey-it's-not-my-fault' gesture."If you're that bothered with me leaving, why don't you follow me?"

The raptor glared at me from one gleaming golden eye, then took off abruptly, beating its wings and soaring into the inky black sky where I lost sight of it among the stars.

* * *

I made my way back to the tavern, my temper now cooled, but my mind still in as much turmoil as before. My head had started to pound, and so I decided that going back to my room to sleep would be the best idea. The tavern was emptying and I slipped inside unnoticed, past the stumbling Britons making their way home and back up the dark stairs along the corridor to my room. I pushed open the door and then firmly bolted it behind me. I yawned and took off my outer top and boots and then crept back into the relative warmth of the bed.

I was just about to drift off when there was a sudden shriek at the window.

I put the pillow over my head and groaned. Perhaps if I ignored the bird it would go away.

_'You did say that it should follow you,'_ said the whiny voice in my head.

'_Yes, but I didn't expect it to actually do that!_' I argued.

There was the sound of cloth ripping and with a short moan I pulled back the covers and walked over to the window, where it looked as though the curtain was being attacked. I grabbed it and lifted it up and stared at the hawk. It cocked its head and then clicked it's beak, as if trying to get rid of the taste of old cloth.

"Don't even think about coming in," I stated.

I was about to put the cloth down when there was an abrupt knock at the door. Torn between answering and making sure the hawk didn't get any ideas, I finally decided that the door was perhaps a tad more important. Conceding for now I walked over to the door and unbolted it, opening it only a crack so that I could see who it was, but not allowing them any room to get in.

It was Dagonet. I opened the door wider and stepped aside to let him in. There was a low whine at my feet and I grinned. He'd brought Kaleb and Bruinen back with him.

"Hello!" I greeted enthusiastically, bending down and scratching behind their ears as they leapt up and licked me, their big slobbery tongues coating my face in a layer of saliva.

"Thanks boys." I laughed, wiping my face with a sleeve and turned to Dagonet who was smiling, but looking a little uncomfortable as if he wasn't sure he was meant to be here.

"Have a seat," I motioned, and turned and shut the door again. The dogs were rather excitable and I made them lie down on the floor next to the bed. They complied happily, their tails banging against the ground. I went and sat down on the bed and noticed that the raptor had managed to win the battle against the curtain and had flown and landed on top of the shelf, making itself at home between an old water jar and a small wooden box.

"Fine," I said, "but behave."

Dagonet glanced over at where I was talking and chuckled. "Isn't that Tristan's hawk?" He asked bemusedly.

"Yes," I said, "but the damn thing will not leave me alone. Don't worry, tomorrow I'll be giving it back to him." The knight smiled and then his face grew more serious.

"I don't know what you did," he started and I went to answer but he held up his hand and I fell silent, "and I don't think I want to, but for what you did, thank you."

I nodded in acknowledgment.

"You saved my life, and for that I am now in your debt." I shifted uncomfortably and broke eye contact, pulling idly at a loose thread in the blanket.

"You do not owe me anything," I said and glanced up at him.

"But if there is anything I can…"

"I know."

There was a silence and we both sat, unsure of what to say in a situation like this. I cast my mind about for something to say.

"Thank you," I started. "For looking after Bruinen and Kaleb."

He grunted, and I smiled at the typical male response. There was another pause and then…

"What were you arguing with the Woad about?"

"Ah," I said, "you noticed then."

Dagonet shook his head. "Nay, Tristan did actually."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further.

"After you left, she seemed rather upset and went to Arthur for…ah, being present in the tavern, I was told what had occured later."

I smirked. "Right."

"So?" he asked.

I sighed. What could I do? Tell him I was arguing with Guinevere about a battle he was not even aware would happen until Arthur chose to tell him? I thought rapidly but my mind failed me at that moment and I could not think of anything to supply the curious knight with. In the end I had to settle with a general comment that it was not of much importance.

Dagonet looked at me in disbelief. "To make a Woad unhappy? That was not something trifling."

"We disagreed on an issue, and unfortunately my temper got the better of me. I was rather harsh I fear."

He nodded sagely and got up and put another log on the hearth fire, which was petering out.

"Is it wrong," I asked suddenly, "to put one's own life before another's?"

Dagonet sat back down and scratched his chin in thought. "Arthur is really the man to ask that question to," said Dagonet finally. "He is a thinker, believes in his God. Loyalty, obedience, sacrifice, that sort of thing. I am a man of the soil, I believe in my sword and Arthur. Blood for blood. If anyone knows the answer to that it would be him."

I smiled and he got up from the chair, which unfortunately was rather too small for him, and I fear he had been suffering in silence. I stood up also and the dogs rose too as he headed for the door.

He pulled it and then turned to me."Thank you." he said.

I smiled and nodded. "Goodnight," I murmured and closed the door behind me.

Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and headed for bed, but not before peering out of the curtain one more time. There was rustling behind me and I moved in time for the hawk to fly out of the window. It hovered for a moment in the air and then swooped, landing on an outstretched arm. I gasped softly as I noticed the knight was looking straight at me. Tristan's eyes for the second time locked with mine for a moment. And then he walked away and I released the breath I hadn't realised I had been holding.

Closing the curtain I stroked the dogs' heads for a moment and smiled fondly at them.

"Well, I don't know what I'm doing and I'm not sure what decision I will come to when I wake, but at least I have you two back." Kaleb nipped my fingers and jumped on the bed. I pushed him off and laughed. "But you aren't getting away with that."

I clambered into bed and pulling the covers around my chin I said a silent prayer of thanks to the gods and asked for guidance and protection. I yawned again, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

I bolted upright.

It was still dark outside and I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep for. It seemed an age but it could not have been more than a couple of hours perhaps. I wasn't sure what had woken me from my sleep and feeling oddly on edge I didn't even attempt to go back to sleep.

My skin prickled. Something very odd was going on. It was then that I noticed that there was something resting on the edge of my bed, a dark shape that looked vaguely human.

"Guinevere," I hissed. "If that is you I am seriously going to…"

"_Nese,_" said the shape in my native language, as it suddenly left the bed and hovered in the middle of the room. "I am not this mortal you speak of."The voice was low and dark and powerful. Very powerful.

I trembled and asked the question I was not sure that I wanted an answer to. "Who are you?"

"I am many things to many people, for the moment I am a messenger."

"A messenger for who?" I asked boldly, momentarily forgetting my fear.

"That is not your concern," said the voice and I understood that I was treading on very thin ground.

I squinted at the shape trying to make out what it looked like, but soon found the task impossible. The room was pitch black, but this…thing was darker even than the room. It was like the difference between the blackness when you put the blanket over your head and when you close your eyes in a room totally devoid of all natural light. It was glowing and the only words that I could use to describe this was that it was glowing with dark light, if such a thing even existed.

The voice spoke again. "I speak for those to whom you owe a debt."

I frowned. "A debt?" I queried, unsure of what this…creature, I supposed was the best word was speaking of. Adding respectfully. "_Hlaford min_."

"Yes," said the voice. "You have repeatedly asked for and have been granted favours, and foresight, the knowledge you have asked for. This was acceptable. However, not long ago you asked for too much."

I had the sudden sinking sensation in my stomach, when you know you are going to get bad news.

"You were given this power because you were deemed worthy enough to receive it and what you were attempting to do was done in an act of compassion."

'Oh no,' I thought. 'This was to do with me saving Dagonet with the runes.'

"But now you must repay that which has been granted."

"What must I do?" I asked warily.

The darkness rippled for a moment and then the voice was heard again. "The gods do not appreciate giving their power to a mortal who is then too cowardly to stay when asked by a friend," it sneered.

I opened my mouth to protest but the voice interrupted me.

"Do not dispute with me mortal!"

I shut my mouth abruptly.

"You owe a debt to a being higher than you and you will repay it. You will remain here until the threat from your people is over. You will use the power you have been temporarily gifted with to help those who are valiant."

There was a pause as if the voice was waiting for my reply.

I nodded dumbly; aware that suddenly I was dealing with powers higher than anything I had dreamed of.

"There will be a time for the Saxons but it is not now. The great gods have chosen to help the Britons this time and will use you to work their will. They value valour and honour and have noticed these knights and their deeds. So for this one time they have chosen to save them from complete destruction."

I understood. The gods were only choosing to save them this time because they had recognised the bravery of Arthur's knights and so had granted them a boon. But this was only one chance. And it would not happen again.

The voice turned colder if that was possible. "The Saxons have forgotten those who created them and revel in their own glory. Only a few still remember the old ways. This will be an example to them not to boast proudly of their own achievements."

It also appeared then that it was a punishment and I kept silent, recognising that it was the will of the darkness that was the creature rippled again and it started to grow smaller as if it was being called back to somewhere.

"Remember mortal," it called as the darkness began to shrink "Fulfil the bargain. You are Saxon. One of Woden's chosen people. _Wes ðu hal."_

"_Wes ðu hal,_" I murmured, and then it disappeared and I was left alone. For a few moments I did nothing as what had just happened sunk in. I turned over onto my right side and saw that the dogs were still fast asleep on the floor, snoring quietly. I rolled my eyes. Typical.

Well, it appeared that I would not be leaving as planned. Not unless I wanted to incur the wrath of the gods anyway. I chuckled humourlessly to myself.

At least Guinevere would be pleased.

* * *

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_Saxon phrases used in the chapter:_

Nese : 'no'

Hlaford min : 'my Lord'

Wes ðu hal : 'Farewell.' Also means 'hail!'


	5. Casting & Kisses

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

The next morning I was not in the best of moods.

I pulled on my over top and peered out of the window. The day was grey, the clouds herding together in dark clusters and I hoped it would at least stay dry. Seeing that the weather was as bleak as my temper I snorted and pushed open the door, letting the dogs go first as they raced each other down the stairs.

I sat myself down at the same table I'd sat at before, Bruinen and Kaleb coming to lie next to my feet underneath the table. The place was fairly empty, only a few children running around playing some sort of game, but that was not surprising as I supposed only Bors could drink this early in the morning.

I rubbed my eyes and wondered where I could get some water to wash myself with- I felt grubby and discreetly sniffing myself I noticed I was starting to smell as well. There was a young girl sweeping up last night's mess and she looked up as I approached her, then dismissed me with a cursory glance.

"Yes?" she said, going back to sweeping the floor.

"Do you know where I can get any water to wash with?" I asked, running my hands through my hair. I grimaced; it wasn't a pleasant sensation.

The girl nodded, not looking up at me.

"Aye," she said. "There's a river that flows though the settlement 'bout a half hours walk from here." She pointed in the direction that I should walk in and I nodded my thanks.

I was about to walk off when my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten for a while. "And anywhere I can get something to eat?"

The girl looked up and rested her hands on the broom handle. "Depends on how much you have on you."

I tried to think how much I had remaining in my sack, the few coins I possessed would not make much. After all I caught most of my own food – what need had I for money?

The girl smirked at my silence. "Well then, that'll get you a slice of stale bread 'n cold porridge." She laughed as I wrinkled my nose.

"Beggars can't be choosers 'cos otherwise they starve don't they?"

I repressed the urge to smack the insolent expression off her face and turned and walked out of the tavern.

"Oy miss! Don't you want yer food?" she called mockingly.

I made a rude gesture and tried to ignore her ringing laughter as I stormed along the dirt track in the direction she'd pointed out. The dogs followed me trotting by my side, and I ignored the curious glances sent my way by the villagers who were doing their daily chores, milking the cattle, feeding chickens, trying to rethatch a leaking roof etc.

Royally unamused, I kicked a stone out of my way as I made my way to the river, following the bare brown track towards the faint trickling of the water. It was nestled behind a clump of trees, which I used as cover as I stripped off my clothes and pendant, and leaving them on the bank I gingerly dipped a toe in. Pulling back hastily, I knew that as cold as the water was at least I would feel fresher. I screwed up my courage and plunged both feet in, the water rising up to the middle of my thighs. The dogs decided to follow my example and launched themselves in. I yelled as I was showered with freezing water, scowling as they barked contentedly.

Shivering, I reached back into my sack and pulled out my precious bar of soap. It nestled easily in my palm and I broke a little piece off and lathering it in my hands I started to wash. Unfortunately the soap I used had the bad habit of tinting my hair a slight shade of red, but luckily it soon faded after a few hours. Scrubbing myself quickly so that I could get out of the freezing water I soaped my hair and started rinsing it out.

Five minutes later I finished bathing and hurriedly clambered out, ringing out my hair and twisting it into a knot at the top of my head, fastening it with a wooden brooch. I put my pendant on once more and drying myself with my tunic I hoped I could borrow spare clothing from Guinevere, as I wryly realised that wearing a damp top and trousers in this climate was easily the best way to get a cold. Shrugging it on, the dogs decided at that moment to shake themselves dry…all over me.

I shrieked as once again I was sprayed with cold water.

* * *

The day didn't improve much from there.

The heavens decided to open up and I only just made it back in time to avoid getting unnecessarily damp again. The rain meant everyone stayed indoors and I found myself cooped up in the inn once more. I supposed the knights and Guinevere were staying in their own huts as I saw no sign of them in the pub and so, bored but glad that I would not have to face any uncomfortable questions I retreated back to my room.

Unfortunately no Guinevere meant no change of clothes so in the privacy of my room I stripped and wrapped the bed coverlet around myself. The rain was pelting off the roof and the sound was deafening as it fell on the muddy ground, making a thick soup of the earth, animal faeces, and the blackened remains of what might have been last night's vegetable stew. I looked out of the window only to see the dull greyness of my surroundings, the trees dancing wildly in the face of the storm, as though partaking in their own exotic rain dance.

I fingered my pendant pensively. Something bad was going to happen soon and I eyed the bag of runes warily as they sat on the table. Perhaps now was a good time to use them once more. I needed to know what was going to happen and it seemed that this was the only way I was going to get any answers. After lasts night's visitation the urge to find out what in Thunor's name was going on was getting stronger.

Bolting the door and making the dogs lie down in the corner so that they couldn't ruin the reading I reached for the bag and tipped them onto the bed, watching the way they made the pattern on the bed, watching the flow of the Wyrd from the runes in the past to the present. The three groups were clearly separated but it was the future grouping that I was most interested in.

The runes that forecasted what was to become were packed tightly together and inverted indicating a strong warning. I bit my lip and read the runes.

There was Lagu, indicating rapid change, and from the way it was inverted that meant change for the bad.

Then there was Mann, indicating perhaps betrayal or to watch oneself or others.

Éoh was a really bad one, showing that psychic death was in the making followed by Ís- a firm caution to beware and finally Thorn, meaning 'look before you leap.'

It appeared the message couldn't have been much clearer. I glanced over the way that the runes had fallen once more and noticed that the future had split itself into six groups. There were two runes in each group apart from the sixth, which had all of the runes of warning in it, whilst the other five groups all had pleasant runes, not one warning or caution and I pondered the strange mixed message I was getting.

What could there be six of?

Well, there were seven knights…a sudden thought struck me cold. Could perhaps the six outcomes represent each knight? I frowned. But that would mean that two knights shared the same fate then, and it was not a happy one. Two knights would die and I racked my brain frantically trying to figure out which two.

Dagonet had already had his chance to die so it would not be him.

I ruled out Galahad and Gawain. From what little I had seen of them they seemed to be tied at the hip and I knew they would look out for each other.

I discarded Bors too, though rather impulsive he was a capable warrior and besides, Vanora would kill him if he decided to quit the world of the living just yet.

I ignored Arthur too. There were great plans in store for him and I knew his destiny was not yet fulfilled.

My gut instinct fell on Tristan and Lancelot.

The lone wolf and the lover.

I cross-referenced my feelings with two, three rune readings and neither reading showed a continuation of life for either knight. I put the runes back and pulled the sheet tighter around my body. Now I knew who would die I wondered how on earth I was meant to prevent it. It was clear from saving Dagonet that by the time I'd rescued one the other was likely to be dead. And besides, that particular spell was for healing the wounded – the whole point of the rune casting was that someone was already hurt. I was trying to prevent them from having to nearly die before I could help them.

Perhaps if I somehow prevented one from getting killed, that knight could go and help the other, which meant that I'd only have to look after one. I scrolled through my mental catalogue of spells, searching for a suitable protection casting that I could use. Did I want a passive or aggressive defence? Maybe something to ensure safety? Or a particularly strong health enchantment? I wasn't really sure so opted for two spells I was fairly confident I knew how to cast and would be sound all rounders, covering all the basic pointers.

I picked Sigel, which was good for ensuring safety in any undertaking, and then Ur representing might; I would use it to bring about physical strength and health. I took off my pendant and traced the sun's outstretched rays of copper. I quickly cast both spells on the talisman, each charm taking no more than a few minutes to complete and then placed it in my bag carefully.

I decided to give the pendant to Tristan to wear, knowing that the spells would become active once it was placed around his neck. I hoped the rain would pass soon; the quicker I could give it to him the stronger the spells would be. My only problem would be persuading him to wear it. I rolled my eyes.

Now that would be a fun job.

* * *

Evening seemed to come quickly, the torches being lit in the various places around the encampment so people could still see where and what they were walking on. There seemed to be some sort of ruckus outside, the villagers clamouring round by the wall, their faces frightened and confused.

I frowned and throwing on my now dry clothing I headed downstairs. The inn was fairly empty, but the crowd was large enough for people at the back to be in the entrance of the inn, blocking the exit.

Something was happening and I wanted to know what. Swiping some unlucky devil's half-eaten dinner from where it had been left in the rush to know what was happening, I entered the kitchen area. Chewing on my hastily snatched meal I noticed that that too was near deserted, except for a flustered Vanora who was swearing angrily to herself as she battled to clear up the mess left by the curious barmaids. Realising the prudence of not disturbing an irate woman I crept through quietly and left through the back door. Fortunately she was too preoccupied with cursing each of the wenches to their own private hell to notice me sneaking out.

The shouting was louder out side. Someone was yelling something above the general uproar.

"Make way! Make way!"

But for what or whom? My answer was given by the crowd parting for Arthur and Guinevere who were hurrying up the narrow staircase that led to the top of the wall. I could see the remaining knights were clustered there, their faces drawn and tired. I saw Arthur look round, glance at his knights and then watched as his eyes roamed the panicking peasants who were huddled together, like brainless sheep who bunch tighter and tighter as the wolves circle them.

It appeared that the Saxons had finally arrived. Arthur said something to his knights and then left the wall. I saw Lancelot shoot Guinevere a look and then hasten after his friend and leader. They passed out of sight and I decided that standing here was getting nothing done.

Weaving my way in and out of the crowd I managed to make my way to the stone steps and up to the top of the wall and the rest of the knights. I passed Guinevere on the way down, her face tense and troubled as she dashed past me, intent on following Lancelot. I carried on up where the rest of the knights were gathered, their expressions bleak. They looked up as I approached; Dagonet inclined his head in greeting.

"How bad is it?" I queried.

"See for yourself," Dagonet replied motioning out into the darkness of the night. I could see nothing but the flickering of fires dotted in the night, the flames dancing like fireflies.

"There must be a hundred men to each of those fires," muttered Galahad, his fingers raking through his hair. "At least."

"Cerdic isn't messing around," I murmured to myself.

Tristan shot me a sharp look. "What did you say?"

I felt my cheeks flush. "Nothing." I bowed my head to avoid his piercing gaze and glanced at the fires once more. A snatch of an argument was heard on the breeze.

"Then do not do this!...I beg you…"

"…do not dissuade me…live it for the both of us…"

The voices were angry and passionate, and though I could not hear all of the words spoken the emotions were clear. The group shifted uncomfortably.

"You're not staying, are you?" It was a statement rather than a question. They were leaving and I felt angry that I was being forced to stay here whilst they could choose to go. Dagonet opened his mouth to reply, but I shook my head.

"Don't bother." I hurried down the steps intending to return back to the inn and reread my runes. Surely I could not have been so wrong? I was positive I had cast correctly but then the runes were tricky and easily changeable. My expression dark I pushed my way back through the crowd, using my elbows to clear a path for myself.

I was just about to go back inside when someone roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me into the stables, shoving me up against the wall. His hands were placed either side of my head, trapping me where I was with his body.

I growled softly.

"Tristan," I glowered. "What in the nine worlds do you think you're doing?"

The scout smirked, his teeth gleaming in the dark and I felt a flicker of fear pass through me.

"It isn't your place to question what myself and my fellow knights decide to do," he said dangerously softly, his lips pressed next to my ear. "I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself."

I shivered slightly and I had the sinking feeling that it wasn't out of anxiety anymore.

"Why?" I whispered back. "Scared I might make you feel guilty?"

"No," he replied, "you might tempt me to do something I'll regret in the morning."

His body pressed closer to mine and I repressed a frisson of pleasure as I felt his warmth next to me. I closed my eyes as his lips brushed my own and then he melted back into the shadows.

I opened my eyes slowly…and then narrowed them in realisation of what I'd let happen. Clenching my fists I hit the stable wall.

"Damn him!"

I resisted the urge to touch my lips and headed back to my room, thoroughly embarrassed over what had just taken place in the stables. I shook my head. How could I have been so stupid? I was not about to start having _feelings_ for one of Arthur's knights; it was completely insane.

I opened my room door with a grateful sigh and then flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to remove my boots. Kaleb jumped up on the bed next to me and I stroked his head.

"What am I going to do boy, huh?" He barked softly and lay down with his head in his paws, his tail lazily thumping against the blanket.

"Yeah, me neither."

* * *

I watched impassively as they loaded their armour onto the wagon, my arms crossed against my chest, one hand gripping the pendant. Vanora was herding her children together as she made ready to leave with Bors, whose face appeared to have aged several years in the pale dawn light.

Dagonet came to stand next to me, as I leaned against a post holding up the tavern's roof. I ignored him.

"Don't be like this."

"Don't be like what?" I snapped, a sliver of guilt sliding into my chest when I saw him flinch at my tone.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I don't like early mornings."

He managed a small smile, and then looked down at his hands.

"Look," he said, "why don't you come with us? You're not a Briton that much is clear; you've got nothing holding you to this land, why not join us?"

I shook my head. "I appreciate the offer but I'm afraid I must decline. I have an obligation to fulfil – no don't ask me what it is, it's too complicated to explain," I said at his questioning look.

He nodded in acceptance of my words.

"You will take care of Lucan?" I asked, concerned about the little boy and what would happen to him.

"Of course," said Dagonet and a smile creased his features. "He will be well looked after."

We stood for a few quiet minutes as the final things were loaded onto the wagon. Finally the time came when we had to say goodbye. I held out my hand and he clasped my hand between his two giant ones.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"Be careful," I replied and then he was gone, walking back to saddle his horse.

I watched for a few moments as the final preparations were made. The Roman soldiers were checking their orders with the Bishop, Vanora had finally gotton her brood sorted out and it looked as though they were ready to go.

"I see you managed to make Dag feel guilty then," came a low voice to my left.

I rolled my eyes and turned towards Tristan. "What a pity I failed to touch your heart of ice," I said sarcastically.

He smirked. "I see you are not coming with us."

I was about to reply with a witty retort but found myself shrugging instead.

"No." I pressed the pendant into his left hand. "Here," I said simply and then turned my gaze to the line of Romans marching slowly past as they made their way out of the gate.

He turned it over in his hands, running calloused fingers over the metal work. "What is it?" He asked curiously.

"A talisman," I answered, still watching the soldiers leave. "It's for protection, wards against evil…just wear it," I said finally turning my eyes to his.

He held it out in front of him by the cord, watching as it glinted in the filtered sunlight.

"I didn't know you cared," he said mockingly.

"I don't," I bit out.

"Then why…"

"Please?" I asked quietly. There was a pause and then his gazed softened and he acquiesced.

"All right."

I breathed an inward sigh of relief. "Thank you."

He had just finished putting the pendant round his neck when there was a shout from Bors.

"Tristan! Come on! We're s'pposed to be leavin'!" Tristan's lips quirked upwards slightly and he turned to face me.

"Shouldn't you be going?" I queried, an eyebrow raised.

"Not before I do this," he murmured and then before I knew what he was doing he stole a kiss. But this was nothing like the brief brush of last night.

His lips met mine, crushing them beneath his own with bruising intensity, searing his brand upon them. Shocked, I barely had time to respond and then it ended just as abruptly as it had begun. I opened my eyes in a daze, trying to control the rising well of disappointment I felt at the sudden absence of his lips. My breathing was jerky, my heart racing. By the time I'd finally schooled my emotions he was already saddled on his horse and riding out of the gate.

"You bastard!" I yelled.

He raised one arm mockingly in salute and then disappeared into the hazy smoke that surrounded the camp.

I thumped my head against my fist. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This could not be happening to me - I didn't want it to happen…did I?

My confused feelings were hurriedly shoved to one side when a small thin peasant woman with dirty blonde hair grabbed my arm and started speaking rapidly. Something about how I was to help pour tar on the ground. My brow scrunched in confusion. Some wonderful plan of the Woad wizard? The woman continued to babble on. Shaking myself out of her grip I decided now would be a good time to find Guinevere and quiz her on what in Niflheim was going on.

Hurrying in the direction of the woods my mind skipped back to the knights and my mouth creased into a smirk. They'd be back. I touched the runes in their pouch reassuringly. Oh yes, they'd be back.

Sooner than they thought.

* * *

**Please read and review! Free cookie of love with every shiny happy review sent. I'm not above bribery ;) **

_General information:_

**Soap:** According to an ancient Roman legend, Soap got its name from Mount Sapo, where animals were sacrificed. Rain washed a mixture of melted animal fat, or tallow, and wood ashes down into the clay soil along the Tiber River. Women found that this clay mixture made their wash cleaner with much less effort. The ancient Germans and Gauls are also credited with discovering a substance called soap, made of tallow and ashes, that they used to tint their hair red.

'**In Thunor's name': **Thunor is the god of the common man and farmer. The thunder god, he rides across the sky in a goat drawn chariot. Lightning flashes whenever he throws his hammer Mjollnir. Thor wears the belt Megingjard that doubles his already considerable strength.

**The Wyrd: **This is a concept in ancient Anglo-Saxon and Nordic cultures corresponding to fate. It is cognate to the Modern English word _weird. _The word comes from the Anglo-Saxon verb _weorþan_, to become. It refers to how past actions continually affect and influence the future. The concept of wyrd implies that whilst we are affected and constrained by our past actiosn, we are coonstantly creating our own Wyrd through how we respnd to present situations.

**Niflheim:** Is the far northern region of icy fogs and mists, darkness and cold. It is situated on the lowest level of the universe. The realm of death, Helheim is part of the vast, cold region. Also situated on this level is Nastrond, the Shore of Corpses, where the serpent Nidhogg eats the dead bodies. After Ragnarok, there will be a hall here for the punishment of murderers, oath breakers, and philanderers.

_Runes used in this chapter_:

**Lagu: **can indicate rapid change good or bad.

**Mann:** can mean many things, but it usually indicates to beware of betrayal, to watch ones self and others.

**Éoh:** can be a difficult rune to interpret. Nonetheless, it can indicate that a spiritual journey is about to be made or that psychic death may be in the making

**Ís:** can mean, "beware, watch your step," or it can indicate one's life has come to a standstill.

**Thorn: **can mean, "look before you leap," or proceed with caution.

**Ur: **represents the cosmic bovine Audhumla and therefore represents the vitality of the life force or mæen, although more likely Ur represents the physical aspect of mæen called might. In divination it usually represents strength will be called for or fierceness and the courage to use these qualities. In magic it can be used to bring about strength and physical health

**Sigel:** can indicate a time of safety and happiness, a time of hope and safe journeys. In spell work it is especially good for ensuring safe journeys or safety in any undertaking.


	6. Blood & Bodies

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

I found Guinevere amongst her own people, repainting her tattoos carefully on her body, the blue dye staining her skin in swirls of colour. She looked up as I approached and nodded her head in greeting. Motioning for me to sit down in front of her, I sat, folding my legs beneath myself.

"So you stayed," she said plainly, carefully painting the intricate designs on her fingers.

I rested my chin on my fist."As you can see."

"But only two nights ago you were adamant you would leave. Why are you still here?"

I shrugged and responded vaguely. "I had a change of heart."

She nodded but I could see that she was not convinced. She didn't press me any further though and we sat in companiable silence for a few moments.

"What's the plan?" I asked eventually, curious as to what the peasant woman had been talking about. Defeating the Saxons when the odds seemed impossibly high seemed like suicide - I had the promise of the gods that my people would be defeated but they were whimsical creatures and could easily go back on their word at any moment. It was hardly much comfort.

Guinevere explained. "The Saxons should hopefully split into two groups – they're cautious and the first wave will be used to test the strength of the defenders. They won't be able to see any oncoming attack because of the thick smokescreen we have behind the walls. Once we wipe out half of the company they will be scattered and the plan is for them to end up shooting each other in the confusion."

"The tar being poured on the ground has been put in strategic places so that when the Saxons come through it will ignite upon contact with the flaming arrows that my people will use." She pushed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. "This battle will be much harder than the first as it will contain the Saxon leaders and we need to wipe them out as soon as possible to dishearten the rest of the men." She stood up, finally finished with her tribal decorations.

"And you?" She asked. "Where will you be?"

I paused and pursed my lips thoughtfully."I need somewhere near to where the fighting is but far enough away to not become a target."

The Woad woman picked up her bow and we walked along the edges of the wood."Somewhere here would be perfect," she said motioning with her hand. "There's a small open area near the edges just a little further on from here and that is exactly what you need. Do you have all of your supplies?"

I ran through my mental catalogue of medical paraphernalia, ticking things off on my fingers.

Runes. Check

Mead. Check

Water. Check

Needle and thread - I needed to borrow that and also some Woad dye. I told Guinevere.

"Yes," she said, motioning for me to follow her deeper into the woods. "We have that, is there anything else?"

Blankets. Check

"Clean material," I said. "I'll need some to make bandages and I have none of my own." We eventually reached a small hut that stank of blood and herbs and death. I scrunched my nose at the obnoxious stench.

She noticed my expression and laughed."You get used to it."

I gave her a look, which told her that how anyone could become accustomed to such a terrible odour was beyond me. She motioned for me to wait outside and profoundly grateful that I did not have to enter the heart of the reek I waited patiently for perhaps five minutes. There was a great crash suddenly from inside the hut and a cloud of green smoke wafted out of the small windows dotted around the sides.

"Guinevere?" I called anxiously, unable to see anything through the cloud. There was silence and then she emerged coughing, carrying a large bundle of dark brown cloth. I rubbed her back soothingly and eventually she could breathe easily again.

"Are you alright?" I queried. She nodded and waved me away.

"I'm fine. I disturbed one of Merlin's powders that's all – nothing too much to worry about."

I took the cloth from her and the bottle of dye along with two shiny needles and a bundle of thin thread. We walked back to the edge of the forest together and gazed out into the distance. The smoke was thick now but Arthur could clearly be seen standing proud atop the grassy knoll behind the camp's walls. I noticed Guinevere's anxious expression and smiled knowingly. She glanced over at me.

"What?"

"Oh nothing, nothing," I said. "Just wondering when baby Artorius will be making it's appearance."

She choked and I started walking away. Turning back to look at her, I noticed her eyes were narrowed, lips set in a thin line.

"Well are you taking me to this spot or not?"

* * *

The glade was not very far at all from where the Woads planned to attack the Saxons and slaughter them. The trees surrounding where I was were sparse and the branches bare affording little protection, but it was better than nothing at all. I placed the supplies down on the driest piece of ground I could find.

The lone figure was still standing on the hill, the mist surrounding him and caressing him like a lover. He stood silently and though only he, one man stood there his presence commanded fear and respect. I wondered what the rest of the knights were feeling as they saw him stand on the hill. Could this be the action that made them fight? A sudden cry rang out.

"Artorius!"

Guinevere and I looked at each other. She mouthed the name Bors to me and I nodded.

There was another loud shout – a war cry of Sarmatia I guessed. The noise was eerie, echoing on in the mist and smoke, disembodied warriors calling across the gulf. I glanced over at Arthur who until now had stood still and silent but then he answered the cry, raising the standard in his hand with a deafening yell. And then silence once again closed in.

I started to feel claustrophobic and Guinevere must have noticed because she led me back to the inn and handed me a cup of mead. I smiled gratefully for the drink and took it to my room upstairs, finishing it on the way up. I opened the door shooing the dogs out of the way, as I put the cup on the table and picked up my runes and skinning knives. Guinevere had waited outside and as I closed the door, Bruinen and Kaleb pushed their muzzles against her legs, tails wagging until she patted them. I rolled my eyes.

"Come on," I said and they raced down the stairs, leaving Guinevere and I in their wake. We reached outside just as Arthur disappeared into the smoke, riding his horse down the edge of the encampment. I frowned and we picked up our pace, heading to higher ground to see if we could see where and what was happening. Standing on a small rise we could see over the wall at the bottom; see the Saxon army en masse.

I recognised Cerdic through the smoke standing next to a thin, weedy looking Briton, waving a large white banner.

Guinevere couldn't fail to notice him either and her hands tightened into fists. "A traitor. My day is complete."

I smiled humourlessly at her statement, knowing that that sort of betrayal would hurt more than the invasion of her country. The man was dismissed upon Arthur's arrival and he hurried away as fast as he possibly could, slithering up a tree to hide.

The doors creaked open and Arthur, sword drawn, met Cerdic. Too far away to hear a word spoken I relied on their body language to decipher what they could be saying. They circled each other like wolves, each one trying to spot the weakness in the other, looking for an opportunity to strike.

_Begietan hals _

And even though Cerdic stood on the ground, looking up at Arthur on his horse I shivered. When I had lived in my homeland as a young child I had heard of Cerdic's exploits in half whispered conversations between my parents, used as a bogeyman to make my brother and I go to sleep without argument or not to stray too far from the house. He was a man of little mercy, sparing no-one regardless of age or gender.

His son, Cynric was a disappointment to him. Though hard and brutal, he had a streak running through him that made him care more than his father. Not for his enemy - no. But for his men, for his country, and I respected that. I suddenly felt a strange link between us – we would both have to watch our people slaughtered.

The two enemies had finally finished their conversation and Arthur, taking one more look at Cerdic rode back to the wall. Cerdic turned and I saw him make the ritual battle signals. The men began to group into lines and to beat the war drums, the echoing boom resounding in my chest with my heartbeat.

But I could not fail to notice the lack of the sacrifices. Neither Hretha nor Woden were called upon and I pressed my lips tightly together. It appeared that now their fates were sealed. Angry at them, at the senseless loss of life which was about to take place I turned and wondered over to my supplies, adding the things I had collected from my room and flopped down at the base of a tree. Bruinen whined and settled down at my feet sensing my mood. Kaleb moved restlessly as though he wished that this whole episode was over soon.

Guinevere sat down next to me."You don't want to be here do you?" She asked though we both knew the answer.

I shook my head. "No."

There was nothing really more to say. What could I tell her?

That the thought of my people being hacked down made me sick to my stomach?

That the possibility that both Lancelot and Tristan could die scared me more than I liked?

That I wished I could run away right now and never look back – never have to know what would happen?

"But you are…and that means a lot." She clasped my shoulder in consolation and then left, walking back to her people leaving me alone to my thoughts.

I rubbed my arms against the chill cold of an early morning on this isle. I glanced back up at the hill and saw Arthur standing there again. I was about to turn away once more when I heard the thunder of horse's hooves. I watched in shock as the knights, led by Lancelot rode up the hill to stand side by side with each other. Dressed in full battle armour and carrying their standards they lined up, stabbing the poles into the ground.

I smiled to myself at the sight. The runes had come true once again. Now I hoped that my pendant would work or two knights would not be finishing this fight alive.

The Saxon drums grew louder as they changed into battle formation. The gates creaked open and I noticed Cynric go to join his men only to be stopped by his father. Words were exchanged but the message was clear. He was to stay there. Clearly Cerdic knew something was going on and even with his few emotions and feelings he was unwilling to sacrifice his son to a hidden attack. The battle chant began.

"Sægan! Sægan! Sægan! Sægan!"

Arthur began to ride up and down in front of his men, obviously giving words of motivation and encouragement as the chant continued. Suddenly Arthur drew his sword - Excalibur - and thrust it into the air as the knights screamed their own war cry in reply.

Tristan drew his bow and notched an arrow, scanning the horizon and took aim. I frowned – what in Helheim was he about to shoot? The arrow shot forwards straight into the tree where the traitor was hiding. He fell to the ground…dead instantly. First blood had been spilled.

And so the battle began.

* * *

Arrows flew everywhere, whistling through the smoke and embedding themselves in flesh, the screams of the dying and the screams of the living indistinguishable, mixing with the screech of metal upon broken shields, broken bones, broken bodies.

The first wave had killed each other off in the confusion and lack of visibility, just as Guinevere had predicted. The rest of the army had soon entered themselves and the slaughter had continued. The Woads and the knights had charged, meeting their enemies in the field and cutting them down with varying degrees of success. Both Arthur and Bors had been unhorsed sometime during the fight and even now men were trying to pull Lancelot from his saddle.

But I had precious time to worry about them.

Saving people was a trickier and more dangerous job then I had expected. The ground was soggy with blood, making it slick and as I dodged a stray arrow I nearly slipped. Forcing myself not to throw up I dragged a wounded Woad man from the battle, away from a group of his comrades who had not been so lucky. Kaleb and Bruinen helped to move him, jaws clamped around the leather belt holding his trousers to his body. He was unconscious; a deep sword slice across his chest and his breathing was shallow.

I sent the dogs out again as I pressed a damp cloth against the deep wound, cleaning away the dirt and blood. I soaked the cloth in the blue dye and wiped the wound, knowing that the healing properties of the plant made it excellent for treating injuries. Grabbing the needle and thread I began to sew up the gash with small neat stitches. I had enchanted the needle with Ur so that as I worked it would work it's own magik, saving time and energy. It meant that I could treat the less serious injuries with as little fuss as possible and concentrate on the more serious ones.

Snapping the thread I tied it tightly and placed him next to his countrymen and women, 11 Woads laying next to each other, blessedly unconscious and unable to complain. I pinched the bridge of my nose as the hounds brought in the next one, or rather what was left of him. His left arm up to his elbow was barley attached, only a few faint strips of flesh held the near severed limb to the rest of his arm. His nose was clearly broken, facing at an odd angle and dark bruises were swelling along his jaw and face. His forehead had swollen massively so that he could barely see out of his eyes – the flesh forcing his eyes to stay shut and it was obvious that many of his ribs were broken.

Knowing I had my work cut out for me I grabbed Beorc, the closest rune to hand and began concentrating. Feeling the power course up my arms and down into my fingers I felt myself sign the rune in the air and then gently place the limb back to the rest of the body. Digging my fingertips into the join where elbow met flesh I allowed the power to be released, feeling my body shake as I tried to keep the power from exploding out of me and escaping into the earth. The flesh below me began to warm and I dug my fingers in further, ignoring the disgusting sensation of nerves reattaching themselves, cells multiplying; skin melding and forming once more. I drew my hands back as the flesh finally melted back into place, the crunch as bone locked and I finally opened my eyes as the power receded.

The arm only had a thin faint red line from where it had once been missing and even this would fade in time. I gently wiped his face and torso with the dye, knowing their wasn't much else I could do now, having dealt with his most pressing injury. I would not waste my energy on trifling ailments.

I surveyed the ongoing battle and tried to pinpoint Guinevere. But that task was impossible, I couldn't tell one Woad from another under the dye and leather. The knights were a little easier to identify but I had lost sight of both Tristan and Lancelot. I spotted Gawain and watched in disbelief as a crossbow bolt hit him. He fell from his horse…only to stand moments later, rip the arrow from his side and carry on fighting. I shook my head. He should have kept it in - now he was at risk from dying of blood loss. Damned knights and their noble intentions it was going to get them all killed.

Searching through the bodies of faceless individuals, feeling for pulses that were no longer there I sighed and rolled one young Woad woman over; but there was no life within her, her neck having been brutally slashed open. I rolled her back and moved on from one pile of corpses to the next, occasionally finding someone who was still breathing, still capable of having the chance to live.

I kept my wits about me, keeping as low as possible to avoid any unwanted attention. Another arrow flitted over my head and I ducked low, hiding behind a battered shield that lay next to its now deceased owner. Peering over the top I scanned for the archer who had sent it my way but found no one. They were all still engaged heavily in the battle and I put it down to another stray arrow.

It was then that I saw Tristan. He was battling Cerdic and I hoped to all the gods who were watching and listening that that pendant worked. Their blades, covered in blood and dirt danced intricately together, parrying one way then another. Neither man seemed to be able get the upper hand and the fight continued. Only half concentrating on searching for people now I tried to keep my gaze fixed on what was happening. Cerdic pulled a knife out and thrust it towards Tristan. Unable to move quick enough to escape, it punctured his arm and I cried out in disbelief. No, no, no! This was all going horribly wrong.

And it was then I noticed that Lancelot and Cynric were fighting each other. My heart plummeted - this was just not my day at all. My eyes flew back to where Tristan and Cerdic had been engaged…but they had disappeared from my view. Panicked I searched wildly for them but found no sign. Where had they gone?

There was a groan at my feet and I looked down into the eyes of a dying Saxon, crimson fluid covering him from head to toe. He was only a young man, perhaps no more than twenty years old. Kneeling next to him I clasped his hand in mine and murmured soothing words of comfort to him, knowing there was nothing I could do.

"_Faran in freod Broðor min, ge sceawian Valhöll_."

He smiled weakly at me, and managed to squeeze my hand slightly. "_Valkyrja min_."

I nodded sadly.

He smiled once more and then his grip slackened, his hand falling from mine. Swallowing the lump in my throat I closed his eyes, hoping the boy had found his way to the halls of Woden. I stood up and stepped over the body, knowing I could not stop here. I had to find Tristan before Cerdic hewed him down.

I found Cerdic instantly, but he was not fighting Tristan any more. No, Arthur had become his prize now and they were engaged in a furious battle. There was hardly anyone left now, just bodies scattering the field… and there he was, kneeling next to Lancelot who was lying on the ground with Guinevere crouching over him.

"Kaleb! Bruinen!"

The hounds looked up from where they had been sniffing for life and raced to me. "My runes, now!"

They turned immediately whilst I ran towards Lancelot, dropping to my knees beside him. There was a nasty gash to his temple but it was the crossbow bolt impaled in his chest that worried me.

He was still conscious but fading rapidly and I waved my hand in front of his eyes to get him to focus on me.

"This will hurt," I said, "but it needs to come out." I pulled sharply upwards and he grunted, but I knew it had to have hurt him more than he was letting on.

I motioned to Tristan and Guinevere. "Help me get his armour off!"

Tristan, who had already removed his own, reached for the buckles and as Guinevere tugged it gradually came away, until I could clearly see the wound. Blood was seeping through his soft tunic, blossoming like a poppy across the clothing.

"Keep him with you," I said. "If he slips into sleep he probably won't wake up again."

Somebody slumped down next to me and I turned and saw Arthur. His face was drawn and tired, spattered with blood.

"Talk to him," I muttered to the roman. "You know him best, keep him conscious…and I don't care how you do it."

Kaleb dropped the rune bag next to me and I reached inside, drawing out Lagu. Pushing up the knight's shirt I placed my fingers in the wound and concentrated on the rune. It would have been safer to use Beorc but I needed faster results. The familiar sensation of power travelled up my arms and down into my fingers, and I pushed it out into the deep hole in his body feeling the rune work, forcing Lancelot's body to heal; to replace the copious amount of lost fluid, to re-network the arteries and veins, to stop the bleeding. For the skin to mesh, the scab to form and drop off and leave a small, silvery scar which in turn would disappear in a few weeks.

Opening my eyes I heaved a sigh of relief as I saw Lancelot looking a lot more aware, talking quietly with Arthur. The rest of the remaining knights had arrived by this time and I was relieved that they were all looking relatively well, though I wanted to look at Gawain's injury more closely. Bors also seemed to have received a few injuries as well and I knew I would have to do an examination of all of them at some time. Checking the place where the wound had been I rubbed my fingers over the new flesh. Lancelot smirked.

"Perhaps I ought to get injured a lot more if this is the sort of treatment I receive."

I rolled my eyes, but it was Guinevere who retorted first. "If Tristan hadn't come Cynric would have killed you where you lay, and if Ymma hadn't come you still would have been 's nothing to joke about."

I nodded seriously, though my lips quirked upwards at the sight of his abashed face. "Do try and be a bit more careful Lancelot - you're no use to the girls if parts of you aren't working."

Arthur was about to say something when he was interrupted by Guinevere's exclamation."Tristan! What do you think you are doing?"

The knight in question had wandered a little way from the group and was currently holding his sword tip against the throat of a Saxon man who was kneeling on the ground in front of him, his face angry and not a little confused.

"I was checking the bodies to make sure they were dead – this one was still alive and tried to attack me."

Without taking his eyes off the Saxon, the knight continued. "Interesting thing really, he wants to know why I'm wearing his sister's pendant." There was a beat of silence and then:

"Ymma…care to explain?"

* * *

**And thus, everything hits the proverbial it will do next chapter.**

**Please read and review! Reviews make me write faster xxx ; )**

**Information used in this chapter:**

_Begietan hals :_ Means seize the neck, literally, in this context meant to represent seize the throat i.e carpe in for the kill.

_Hretha:_ She was the Saxon warrior was called Hrethmonath after her.

_Woden:_ God of death and battle. Saxon's sacrificed to Woden before battle, which was a common practice amongst all Germanic peoples.

_Sægan:_ Means slay in Saxon.I though this was an appropriate war cry, because I'm not really sure what they are saying and this sounds as though it could be what they are saying, though I doubt it is.

_Helheim:_ Region of the underworld.

_Woad dye: _The planthas manyantibacterial properties and is widely used in Chinese 's latin name is Isatis Tinctoria.

_Ur:_ In magik it can be used to bring about strength and physical health.

_Beorc:_ In magik can be used to promote new growth and healing.

_Lagu: _In spell work Lagu can be used to promote growth and healing, but one must be careful to control these processes.A safer rune to use for such things is Beorc.

_Faran in freod Broðor min, ge sceawian Valhöll: _Go in peace my brother, you will see Valhalla.

_Valkyrja min:_ My valkyrie

_Valkyries:_ The valkyries' purpose was to choose the most heroic of those who had died in battle and to carry them off to Valhalla. This was necessary becauseWoden needed warriors to fight at his side at the preordained battle at the end of the world,Ragnarok. thus the young man who is dying thinks Ymma is a Valkyrie...because what else would a Saxon woman be doing in the middle of the battle ground?

_Valhalla: _The hall of Woden where those who have died bravely in battle are welcomed, to fight mock battles during the day and to feast and make merry at night.


	7. A Worthy Man

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

I swallowed.

"What?" My voice was suddenly hoarse.

My eyes flashed to the young man's face and our eyes connected. I couldn't break his gaze, dark orbs boring into mine as though I could somehow tell all of his secrets if only we stared at each other long enough. Reluctantly I looked away, my eyes flitting over his features. Dark brown hair curled and cropped close to his head, dark eyes like mine. Prominent cheekbones and a rather large scar running from his forehead across the bridge of his nose, down across his cheek to stop mere inches from his jaw. And there, nestled just across his chest was a pendant. A piece of copper crafted in the shape of a horse's head hung there, the symbol of Tiw.

My tongue suddenly felt too big for my mouth and my head full of wool, fuzzy and confused.

"Alric?" I asked thickly.

"Ymma." The word was breathed, more a prayer than a name and suddenly I felt myself moving, past the assembled knights, past Guinevere and Lancelot, ignoring Tristan, and dropping to my knees in front of the Saxon.

"Alric?" I repeated his name again like a charm, wondering if he would suddenly vanish.

The man nodded, his lips curving into a smile and then I was sobbing and his arms were wrapped around me holding me tightly, hot tears raining onto his shoulder as I whispered his name like a mantra. I was vaguely aware of the buzz of noise and questions around me, but I only had eyes for my brother.

I pulled back slightly – his own eyes were suspiciously damp and bright – and rubbed my thumb over his pendant. "_Mid Thunor ac Woden_ – I thought you were dead!" I croaked, gripping tightly to him, afraid to lose him again.

"_Nese, lytel sweostor min_. The money which you were sold for saved me…you saved me." He wiped away a tear that was tracking its way down my cheek. "I will be here till Ragnarok." His voice cracked. "I thought I would never see you again," and I found myself being crushed into another hug.

"We have much to talk about," he said, voice muffled in the embrace. "So much to tell each other."

And it was suddenly as if cold water had been thrown over me. I reluctantly moved away slightly and turned to look at a very angry group of people. I said the first thing that came into my head.

"It's not what it looks like."

* * *

I was in deep, deep trouble and I didn't need the runes to tell me that.

The expressions on their faces would have been funny if they weren't aimed at me. I noticed Tristan's grip on his sword had not loosened and it was now pointing in both our directions. Arthur too had his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword though it was blessedly still in it's sheath. I tried again.

"I…"

"You're a bloody Saxon!" bellowed Bors, his face darkened in anger, his hands curled into fists.

I winced both at the volume and the accusation and tried to think how to explain myself without sinking further into the quagmire signposted 'Certain Doom.'

"I…well you see…" I deliberated for a moment and then decided on the truth. "Yes."

"You _are_ a Saxon?" ssked Arthur. "You're not going to deny it?"

I shrugged. "What would be the point? It's plainly obvious that I am, what good would lying do?"

Arthur frowned. "I don't know – it's got you this far."

"I have never lied about my heritage," I said indignantly. "You never asked did you? You just assumed…"

"Oh so now it's _our_ fault!" said Bors sarcastically.

I sighed. "Look, I don't want to cause any more trouble. I am sorry I never told you but can you obviously blame me? If you had been in my position would you have done any less?"

There was no response from any of them and I faced a wall of stony faces.

"I'll leave if you want me to," I said quietly and then wondered why I was feeling so upset about leaving this place. After all hadn't that been what I had wanted all along? Alric put his hand reassuringly on my shoulder.

"I'll be gone in 10 minutes." There was a pause as the knights looked to Arthur for his answer.

"No," he said, his grip not loosening on his sword. "You will stay here where I can keep an eye on you both," I started to feel the first stirrings of anger.

"Keep a eye on us? What do you think we're going to do?"

Arthur's face remained impassive. "For all I know you could be spies."

I fumed. "For who exactly? You've slaughtered my people... there's no-one_ left _to report to!" I gestured to the corpses surrounding us. "If I was a spy why would I save your own people? I saved Dagonet, helped Guinevere, rescued Lucan, protected Tristan from having his insides gouged out and stopped Lancelot from bleeding to death! What more do you want me to do!" I yelled.

Alric's grip tightened and I winced slightly at his silent warning.

Arthur acknowledged my words. "It's true," he said. "You have helped us on many occasions and were it not for you, many of my brothers would not be here today."

I felt a bubble of hope rise.

"But," he said and the bubble began to sink. "I cannot say the same for your brother. He is a Saxon, an enemy and I will not endanger the lives of those present because I allowed him to live."

"If you hurt him it will be the last thing you do," I hissed.

I felt Alric shake his head behind me. "_Lætan Ic gecweðan,_" he said to me. "Let me try to reason with them."

I turned my head to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "Be my guest. He wants you dead so you can't make it any worse." He merely smiled.

"Arthur," he said calmly and the knight in question straightened a little.

"I have heard many tales of you and your deeds, many times heard your name whispered as a prayer," he smiled ruefully, "though most often as a curse by Cerdic. I confess as a soldier I had heard of your formidable skill as a warrior and did not look forward to engaging in battle with you. I did not wish to test my own talents against yours." He gestured around him. "And now I find myself in the unenviable position of being the only man left alive, facing the legend and yet I am still fighting for my life, but with words and not with steel."

Arthur gazed coolly at him and Alric continued.

"I understand that as an enemy you cannot allow me to live and as a Saxon I will not beg for my life. However I will say this. Ymma has absolutely nothing to do with any of this. I haven't seen her since she was seven and neither of us knew we would one day meet again. I will submit to your judgement but please, I ask first for a few moments with my sister."

There was a pregnant pause and then Arthur nodded. Under the watchful eye of the assembled knights Alric dragged me a little way over to some trees, where we could have some privacy.

I glared at him, my eyes shining with tears. "You're just going to let them execute you?" I said angrily. "Run away! Escape now while you can!"

He sighed and placed his hands gently but firmly on my arms. "I won't run like a dog Ymma," he said solemnly. "I haven't lived like a coward only to die like one." He smiled ruefully. "Besides, your friend is quite the marksman. I don't think I'd get very far."

"But I've only just found you I…I can't lose you now," I pleaded. "Please don't do this."

He hugged me tightly and then pulled away. "It is not the way I dreamed we would one day meet but if it is the will of the gods I will submit."

I nodded reluctantly, knowing I could not persuade him otherwise and wiped away more tears. I prayed desperately, if ever there was a time when I would welcome divine intervention now was it.

"Listen," he said. "I need you to do something for me." His eyes were dark and serious.

"_Drohtoð_, I'll do whatever you ask."

"Once I'm gone," he began, "make sure you bury me in the traditional way of our ancestors and then…" He paused and I squeezed his arm in silent comfort.

"I have a family," he said and I looked at him in shock. He was married?

"My wife – Livia, twin sons Wulf and Alston and a daughter Faina," he replied to my look. "The boys are nearing seven and Faina's only three, all blonde hair and blue eyes; she takes after her mother in that respect."

"I'm an Aunt?"

He smiled fondly. "Yes and I need you to find them after I'm gone – look after them for me, please? We live not more than 10 miles from where we grew up as children, I need you to…someone will need to tell Livia I'm…" I thought he'd crack at that moment but I'd underestimated the courage of my brother and he carried on as if he'd never stopped.

"…dead. Promise me Ymma. _Gehat mir._"

"I swear," I said. "There's no way I'm going to be staying here any longer, not after…" My throat closed up and I couldn't say the words.

At that moment though Dagonet came over and motioned for us to return to the others.

"For what it's worth," the knight said, "I'm sorry."

I nodded numbly but couldn't find the heart to reply. Arthur stood in the middle of the circled knights, Excalibur drawn and regarded us both gravely.

"Kneel," he said quietly. Alric stepped into the centre and sunk to his knees on the grass, head bowed as he waited for the fall of the sword on his neck.

"Oh gods, I can't watch." I choked and turned, wrapping my arms around my stomach, unable to witness this final act. There was silence for a few moments then the sickening sound of Excalibur singing through the air followed by a muted thud.

I remained frozen to my spot shakily, refusing to turn around. I felt Guinevere put her arms over my shoulders and she murmured something but all I could hear was the sound of the sword slicing through the air and the dull bump replaying over and over in my head. I shut my eyes trying to shut out the noise, to think of something else but all I had done was add images. My mind supplied the details in plentiful supply and I opened my eyes as quickly as I had shut them, trying desperately not to throw up.

"W…what?" I asked Guinevere. "What did you say?"

"Turn around," she said quietly, coaxing me to rotate but I stubbornly refused to budge.

"How dare you ask me to do that," I said venomously. "I…"

"Ymma." Oh by Loki I was hearing things. It was _his_ voice.

"No, no, no," I murmured, my hand fluttering to my temple. "I'm going crazy."

"No you're not," he said and Guinevere's arms left my shoulder to be replaced by others, obviously masculine. Tristan's I thought abstractly and then wondered how I could tell. He lightly applied pressure and I turned eventually in his arms to confront the scene that met my eyes.

Alric was alive. Still blessedly alive, all body parts intact and staring up at me, a look of wonder on his face as if he couldn't quite believe it too. A sudden burst of sheer bliss bubbled up inside me and I shrieked, flinging myself at him and hugging him as hard as I could. We were both laughing and I was crying again and I pulled us both up, unable to comprehend that he was still living, breathing.

I still had a brother – it was incredible.

"You passed the test," said Arthur, a smile playing on the edges of his lips. Excalibur had been re-sheathed I noted. "You are a worthy man. You protected your sister and were willing to face death with honour and for that I salute you." He inclined his head and Alric nodded in acknowledgment.

"Wait," I said in confusion. "This was all a test?" Arthur nodded and indicated a decapitated Saxon lying nearby.

"That's what you heard…we had to make it convincing."

"I'm, I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly…this was all a test?" I asked in complete disbelief. Alric could sense the sudden shift in mood and placed a restraining hand on my shoulder, but I ignored him.

"You mean to say you put us through emotional _hell_ to see if he was a '_worthy man'?_"

It seemed the others had also sensed the brewing storm and were now hastening to try and divert it.

"You must understand Ymma," said Dagonet. "We had to see if we could trust your brother and this was the ultimate test."

"And it didn't cross your mind that thinking my brother was dead might be completely _devastating_!" I asked incredulously. "Do you think I'm made of stone?"

"I am truly sorry," said Arthur, "but it was the only way."

I repressed the urge to scream and shook myself out of my brother's grip. "What you mean is that this was some testosterone fuelled pissing match, and you just came out top dog – I think that is what you're trying to say," I replied heatedly.

Arthur looked like he was beginning to get angry and opened his mouth to speak when there was an ominous rumbling from above. Dark clouds had gathered whilst we were arguing and without further warning it began to pour down. Thick, heavy raindrops cascaded down from the sky but still we stood there, ignoring the fact that we were all completely soaked.

"I had to do something," said Arthur, raising his voice above the noise of the thunder. "How else was I to show that he could be trusted?"

"I don't know!" I shouted frustrated, "but surely you could have thought of something which wouldn't have caused so much…" I struggled for words, my jaw clenched in anger. "_Men_!" I shouted. "You're…you're all so irritating and such _bastards_!"

A nerve in Arthur's jaw ticked, as the rain dripped from his hair into his eyes.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," he said coolly and turned to head back to the inn.

"Wait!" I called crossly. "You can't just walk off like that; we're having an argument!"

Arthur shrugged and continued to walk. I growled under my breath and stormed after him. I stood in his path, folded my arms and glared.

He merely raised an eyebrow. "You do realise you are being rather childish don't you?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Fine," I said. "If that's how you want to play." I stepped aside and let him pass, watching him walk towards the inn in the distance.

"Bruinen! Kaleb!" I called and the dogs pricked up their ears, padding over from where they'd been sniffing the decapitated body.

"_Rinan onþæt beadurinc_." I pointed in Arthur's direction and off they raced.

"Ymma, do you really think that's wise?" Asked Alric walking over to me. I smirked in response.

"He said I was being childish - so I thought I'd show him my definition of childish."

There was an angry yell from Arthur and I watched in amusement as he turned and waved a fist furiously in my direction.

"_Ymma!_ Call them off_ now!"_

I laughed and Alric couldn't help chuckling either. It was very amusing and I didn't really feel inclined to do what he'd asked. But I supposed I could give him a bit of friendly advice.

"Arthur!" I called and he looked up hopefully. I smirked and shook my head.

"You'll need to put vinegar on that pretty soon – dog piss is terrible to get out."

* * *

**Please read and review! Or I'll send Bruinen and Kaleb on you too! And no amount of dogguy treats will be enough to placate them lol.**

**Many thanks to my reviewers:**

_General information:_

**Symbol of Tiw: **Saxon god of the Sky. The horse is his symbol.

**"Mid Thunor ac Woden":** By Thunor and Woden. Thunor is the god of the common man and farmer. The thunder god, he rides across the sky in a goat drawn chariot. Woden is the Saxon god of death, battle, wisdom, discoverer of the runes. Magikian god.

"**Nese, lytel sweostor min": **No, my little sister.

**Ragnarok: **'Doom of the Gods'.End of the cosmos.

**"Lætan Ic gecweðan":** Let me speak

"**Drohtoð": **I swear.

**Wulf: **Wolf

**Alston: **From the old manor

**Faina: **Joyful

"**Gehat mir":** Promise me

**By Loki: **Loki is the god of mischief, the trickster, a sort of celestial con man. An adept shape shifter with the ability to change both form and sex. He is also a very capable Magikian.

**"Rinan onþæt beadurinc":** lit. means 'rain on that warrior' because I couldn't find the word for urinate is Saxon, sadly. So rain is the closest word I could get.

**Vinegar: **Discovered about 10,000 years by the Roman legionaries as abeverage and is excellent (or so I'm told ) at getting rid of pet 'stains'.


	8. The Aftermath of Battle

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

**Don't forget! All translations are given at the bottom of the page.**

* * *

The rain continued to plummet down in thick drops.

Fat black clouds rolled in and it steadily grew darker and darker until it was as though it was night instead of day. Torches were brought out by the villagers and we all grabbed one, setting out to see if we could find any survivors. I took hold of Alric's hand and headed back to where I'd left the dozen or so woad men and women I'd managed to treat, finding them still lying unconscious where I'd left them, the rune magik still weaving it's way through their bodies. I pushed the torch into the soggy ground so that I could have both hands free, and knelt down next to the man whose arm I had reattached. It seemed to be progressing well and there were no signs of infection, but the next few days would be crucial. If I had not attached it properly then he might have to lose his arm anyway due to disease.

"What shall we do with them?" asked Alric but I knew he wasn't really concentrating on the woads, his eyes were out scanning the darkness for any signs of his fallen comrades.

"Go to them," I said softly. His eyes found mine and I gave him a small smile. "You are no use to me here when your mind is somewhere else."

"_Ic þe þancas do_," and with that he left, heading across the battlefield to find what was left of the people who he had called friends.

I turned back to my patients and found Tristan standing silently next to me. I jumped in surprise; once more he had managed to walk up without making a sound.

"Can you please make more noise when you do that," I snapped, a hand held over my pounding heart. "Sing or stamp your feet, or…just do something!"

Tristan's eyes met mine. "But that would defeat the object of the exercise."

"Which was?" He smirked but said nothing and I sighed irritably.

"Well if you're going to just stand there you might as well be of some use. Help me carry them inside."

* * *

The inn was noisy but warm as people were carried inside and laid on any available table or surface, and I had my work cut out for me trying to deal with each person's injuries. I hadn't realised so many people had managed to cling onto life, and all in all there were about sixty or so people lying in varying states of consciousness in the room.

Vanora and two servant girls were helping as much as they could and Dagonet too, as well Merlin and half a dozen woad healers who had come with bearing salves and pastes which smelt atrocious but worked quite effectively at knitting skin back together.

But this much healing was taking its toll on me and my strength was beginning to wane. My hands had begun to tremble now almost constantly from having to channel so much wild rune magik into bodies at the rate that I was being required to perform at and my head was beginning to ache from concentrating on what I was doing whilst blocking out everything around me.

I rubbed my eyes tiredly and dipped a cloth into the bowl of mead next to the young woman's body I was tending to. Ringing it out I wiped carefully over where I had just healed a gash dangerously close to her throat, making sure to get rid of any drying blood or mud left from the battle.

One of Merlin's woad healers came to stand the other side of her and began to apply some of the green paste to two vicious red gouges which ran across her left shoulder, as if someone had hacked at her body with an axe or a sword. The young healer looked up as though he sensed my eyes on him and smiled warmly at me.

"I'm Kay," he said, raising a paste covered hand to his chest.

"Ymma."

We worked in comfortable silence until one of the servant girls came over and I handed her the cloth so that she could finish where I had left off. Feeling a bit dizzy from the heat and the smell of blood and that horrible paste – what had Merlin put in it to make it stink so horribly?- I decided to get a breath of fresh air.

I headed outside where the rain had lessened a little but was still coming down heavily. I picked up a torch that was staked into the ground and decided to go and look for Alric, who I hadn't seen since I'd told him to look for his friends. It took me a good ten minutes to find him, kneeling next to the side of a thin faced man with burnished red hair. The rain had washed off the remnants of the battle and for all intents and purposes he looked like he could have been sleeping. I sank down next to him and slid my hand into his.

"Raed was a good man." Alric didn't look at me as he said this, his eyes fixed on the warrior's peaceful face and a lump rose in my throat as I realised just how much my brother had lost.

"Gods, I'm sorry," I murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."

"What for?" He asked, still staring at the body, though I wondered if he was actually seeing the body in front of him – I had the funny feeling he was lost in memories.

"You didn't kill him," he said. "You didn't end his life."

I squeezed his hand, trying to give comfort as best I could and he blinked and looked at me as if he had forgotten I was there.

"_Eala! Æghwa hac it mæl. Aeghwa gefarans_." The soft words of grief left his lips and he turned to me, his thumb reaching out to wipe away the tears I hadn't realised were running down my face. He pulled me into a bear hug, and I buried my head in his shoulder, weeping for the men and women who had been lost on both sides. People who would now never go home to their families, to their loved ones.

The words the god's messenger had spoken to me the night that it had foretold of the Saxon's impending doom rang in my head:

_The Saxons have forgotten those who created them and revel in their own glory._

_Only a few still remember the old ways. _

_This will be an example to them not to boast proudly of their own achievements._

And I realised with a sudden bitterness what a high price so many good men had paid to appease the jealousy of their gods.

* * *

We burned the bodies.

So many bodies. One after another, in a seemingly endless procession, until I became numbed to the sight of another nameless corpse. Then Alric would whisper the name of a body he recognised, someone who had been his friend, a fellow warrior, someone who he had grown up with from a boy and then suddenly they would become all too horrifyingly real.

Each time I touched one of them, each time my palms touched their skin I felt the cold embers of what had once been a soul, a living person, and how the rune magik wanted to get out and sink into their skin, heal them of this sleeping disease, only to recoil in horror at the coldness, the emptiness... It didn't understand; it had no concept of death, only of life and its differing levels of health. Magik couldn't help the dead and yet it didn't stop it from trying, each time shrinking back like a frightened animal, to curl up in my chest around my soul where it was warm and living.

It took us perhaps a week to completely clear the battlefield of corpses. Pyres burned all day, all night, until finally there was just one left burning, one last body to burn and send onto the afterlife. This was another unrecognised body, another warrior with shield and sword but no name. We stood silently, watching as the flames leapt higher and higher, throwing out glowing embers in the dark night whispered the words of part of an epic poem that had been recited at our village campsite years before, when I had been a little girl.

"_Ongunnon þa on beorge bælfyra mæst, wigend weccan; wudurec astah, sweart ofer swioðole, swogende leg wope bewunden. Higum unrote, modceare mændon, ond betimbredon on tyn dagum_."

The warriors then began to kindle, on the cliff, the greatest of funeral fires; wood-smoke ascended, black above the flames, the roaring fire mingling with the weeping. With sad spirits, they uttered their sorrow of soul, A monument of the one who was bold in battle.

His voice cracked and I finished for him.

"_Cwædon þæt he wære manna mildust ond monðwærust._"

They said that he was the kindest of men, and the gentlest_._

The last words left my lips and once again there was nothing but the crackle of the fire in the cool night air and at last an empty battlefield. A plain of scrub grass and mud, the blood washed away by the rain, leaving no remainder that anything had happened here at all, save for the new dirt mounds in the cemetery where the Woads had buried their dead.

* * *

Having dealt with the dead for so long, it was a relief to be amongst living, breathing people once more. I collapsed into a chair in the inn, those who were still wounded having been moved long ago to their own homes. Alric had gone to our room upstairs to sleep and I had been tempted to close my eyes myself, but first I needed to be amongst warm blooded people again. To remind myself that death wasn't my constant companion. I was pulled out of my musing by someone setting a mug of mead down in front of me.

I looked up into the warm, friendly face of Kay, who sat down in the available seat opposite mine. Grasping the mug gratefully, I let the warm drink slide down my throat and managed a murmur of thanks, leaning back in the chair and running my tongue over my lips, savouring the taste of honey. The healer smiled.

"You looked like you needed that."

I nodded. "You have no idea."

He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and snorted. "I might."

We drank in silence for a moment and then I tilted my head quizzically to look at him.

"Something's different about you," I said trying to figure out what it was.

He smiled bemusedly."What?"

It clicked and I slammed my mug down triumphantly."You're not covered in green paste!"

The comment was so unexpected and the look on his face so priceless I immediately burst into laughter. He joined in, and as the pressure of the last few days gradually lifted, I found myself unable to control myself, till there were tears rolling down my face, this time though from a bout of the giggles.

Finally I managed to calm myself down, and I rubbed the moisture from my eyes, still chuckling to myself.

"Oh, I think I needed that more than the drink," I said, more to myself than to Kay, who toasted me with his cup, his eyes shining with amusement.

"You are a very strange woman," he said and I raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks a lot."

"No, no," he hurriedly tried to explain, reaching across the table to grasp my free hand, "I mean you are unlike any other woman I know."

"I'll take that as a compliment then, shall I?" I smiled to show that I wasn't offended and he twined his fingers with mine.

"You should," he said, the spark back in his eyes. "I don't say that to a lot of girls."

I shook my head. "You are insufferable."

It was at that moment that I suddenly became aware of someone standing behind me. I turned slowly to find Tristan there, his arms folded, his face looking distinctly unimpressed. His eyes weren't on me though and I realised he was staring at mine and Kay's joined hands. I hurriedly snatched my hand back, and shame of all shames I actually started to blush, like a naughty child caught doing something wrong.

I raised an eyebrow and tried to remain as calm as possible."Yes?"

But he ignored me and instead spoke to Kay.

"I think it's time you went home."

A look of wariness crossed the healer's face and he swallowed the last remains of his drink, before getting up and setting his glass on the table.

"Ymma," he nodded at me and then more coldly at the glowering warrior behind me, before turning and stalking out of the tavern.

"What did you go and do that for?" I cried exasperatedly as he went and sat down where Kay had been sitting moments earlier. "He wasn't doing any harm."

"That boy," said Tristan softly. "Should know his place."

I rolled my eyes "And what is that? Beneath you, oh mighty warrior?"

"Well it certainly shouldn't be underneath you," he retorted.

I gaped in shock at his insinuation and furious, slapped him. Or I would have if he had not deftly caught my wrist in a vicelike grip, before it even got anywhere near his face.

"I would not do that if I were you," he said softly, but the undercurrent was dangerous and something glinted in his eyes which I didn't want to identify.

"Can I have my hand back please?" I asked grumpily, my earlier good mood now vanished.

He did so, but slowly, allowing it to slip out of his grip so that his thumb grazed the inside of my palm, his rough calloused fingers grazing along the soft sensitive skin. I hastily retrieved my hand, the skin where he had touched it felt like it was burning, and as a matter of fact so did my cheeks, which were once again a healthy rosy glow.

He smirked and I muttered Saxon curse words under my breath and waited for the serving girl to refill my mug, which was now woefully empty. I needed the drink to keep me sane I decided and it would probably make the company seem a lot better as well. I think I accidentally said the last bit out loud because Tristan was suddenly giving me one of his dark, piercing looks.

I ignored him.

* * *

I'm not sure how much I had to drink after that, because to be honest it all became a bit of a hazy blur. One moment I was sitting on my chair, tipping the mead down my throat, the next I was being hauled upstairs by Tristan. And unfortunately drink seemed to make everything seem hilarious.

"Tristan!" I giggled. "What do you think you are doing!"

He heaved a sigh as the stairs decided to tilt awkwardly and my legs gave way, causing me to stumble into the wall and slide down it, sprawling on one of the wooden steps.

He shook his head in exasperation. "You are much easier to handle when you are sober," he said, reaching down to slide one arm under my legs and one bracing my back, before picking me up.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and laughed. "Yes, but you don't get to do this!"

His lips curved though he didn't say anything and his grip tightened on me.

We arrived at my room and he set me down gently, though my arms seemed to want to stay where they were, around his neck. My fingers fiddled with his dark hair and I stared at him, his eyes serious and intent.

"You should go in," he said, voice flat.

"Mmh," I mumbled. "But not before I do this first."

And then I was kissing him, my lips ghosting across his, the lightest of touches, teasing, before he grew impatient and pulled me closer, his lips pressing firmly against mine, my tongue darting out to taste the honey on his lips. I stifled a moan as his hands slid under my tunic top, his fingers tracing patterns up and down my back.

I pulled away abruptly, my heart racing and with one final look I swiftly entered my room and closed the door, resting my back against it. I touched my lips which were now pleasantly swollen and if I had been sober I would have realised how much trouble my heart was currently falling into.

Instead, and I blame the alcohol completely, all I could think about was how sweet his kiss tasted.

* * *

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**Everyone who does gets their own reply of happy cheeryness (at least if it's a nice review). Bad ones get sent a lump of coal. So there :p**

_General information:_

**Ic þe þancas do:** I give you thanks

**Eala. Æghwa hac it mæl. Aeghwa gefarans:** Alas. Everything has it's time. Everything dies.

**Part of the epic poem Beowulf was used which seemed rather suitable for this particular point (and yes I know that the oldest surviving manuscript dates from 1100, and that the poem was probably composed as early as the 8th century, which is approx. 4 centuries after the Romans left Britain, which is when this film is set, but this is Fanfiction right? So I thought I'd use a bit of artistic license). The form it takes in my story is heavily edited from what it actually is in the poem, but hopefully none of the essential essence of the poem has been taken away from it.**


	9. Borrowed Time

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

The next morning I woke up with a pounding headache.

Gods, how I hated being sober. I managed to drag myself out of the warmth of my bed and downstairs, finding a dark corner of the inn to throw myself into. One of the serving girls grudgingly brought a bowl of slop (that was apparently masquerading as breakfast), and a jug of mead when asked and set it down in front of me.

"Anything else?" she snapped.

I scowled at her, and deciding I wasn't worth the hassle she turned on her heel and stalked off. I eyed the slop with distaste and picked up a spoon, idly scooping some of it up and watching as it plopped back into the beige goo where the rest of its sludge kind watched me, daring me to try and eat them. I couldn't even contemplate touching it and pushed the bowl back with distaste. I took a swig of mead and reminded myself never to eat anything at the inn when Vanora wasn't cooking. I contemplated going to find something else to eat, somewhere else and my stomach growled in agreement. Spurred on by that thought I decided to track down Kaleb and Bruinen and go hunting with my dogs.

I got up from the table and was heading out of the door when I bumped into the person I was least looking forward to seeing this morning.

"Tristan."

"Ymma."

A small grin followed the purr of my name and I blushed furiously looking anywhere but his knowing eyes. Oh how I wanted to throttle the man. Focusing on the dirt beneath my boots I desperately tried to ignore the impulse to kiss him again, to feel his hands run down my back, to have him crushed against me once more, doing sinful things with his…

"Did you sleep well?"

Pulled out of my thoughts, my cheeks if possible burned hotter and I mumbled a small yes, refusing to look at him, staring somewhere past his right shoulder. A quick glance at his face showed that he knew exactly where my thoughts had been going. I wanted to die of embarrassment. Trying to find a quick route out of my predicament I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm going to hunt with the dogs – you haven't seen them have you?"

I congratulated myself on forming a coherent sentence, and then mentally smacked myself round the head as he raised an eyebrow at my unsubtle attempt to turn the topic away to a safer area than my sleeping habits.

"Aye," he said and pointed over to where Dagonet was dwelling. "I last saw them being fussed over by Dag and the little boy he's picked up with him. They've taken quite a shine to the two of them."

I smiled and decided not to tell him that the reason Bruinen and Kaleb liked Dagonet so much was because he smelled like me –having been saved by my rune magik he was now smothered in my familiar scent and no amount of washing would rid him of the invisible perfume. The little boy, Lucan, was different. They had killed for him on my behalf and that meant he had earned their trust indefinitely. Plus, they also got a whole ton of fuss from the child, which probably didn't damage his reputation in their eyes.

"Thank you."

Scooting round him, I began to walk in the direction he had pointed in and sighed at my escape. Alas, Tristan fell into step with me. I made no comment, apart from a raised eyebrow at his actions and we walked together in silence, his hawk circling above us, calling out loudly as it wheeled and swooped in the morning sunlight.

It wasn't long before we got to Dagonet's lodgings. The door was already half open and I knocked on it, watching as my boys turned from playing with Lucan and raced each other over to me, yipping and wagging their tails like mad. I laughed and knelt down to fuss over them, letting them lick me as we greeted each other. Lucan had paused where he was, uncertainty making him hesitate. I smiled gently at him, opening my arms and he ran over happily to us, being swooped up in a hug. There was the sound of a gruff laugh from in front of me and I looked up to see Dagonet standing there, arms folded, leaning against the door.

I gently disentangled myself the group and smiled at the burly knight in greeting.

"I see you've been taking care of Bruinen and Kaleb well," I said and then shook my head in mock disapproval at Kaleb. "You're getting fat." The dog merely snorted and continued to beat his tail against the ground.

"Aye," said Dagonet. "They come and go as they please, but they really do seem to love it here."

"Yes," I said laughing, "because you two are a couple of softies, and Kaleb and Bruinen will milk untapped affection for all it's worth."

The dogs pricked up at hearing their names and I smirked at them.

"I'm afraid they've got work to do though this morning. I'm…?" I glanced at Tristan who nodded his head in acknowledgment. "_We're_ going hunting."

Dagonet could barely conceal an all knowing grin.

"Really?" He said innocently and I glared at him.

"Yes, hunting for something to replace the breakfast that I still haven't had yet." I grimaced. "One of the serving girls is on cooking duty today but trust me; whatever they're serving up is not edible."

Dagonet nodded in sympathy. "I know how truly awful the food can be- which is why I kept some of the food left over from last night's meal for today." He motioned over to a large black pot hanging over a dead fire. "If I had known I would have saved some for you."

I shrugged. "You weren't to know." I paused and my eyes flicked over to Tristan's face and then back to Dagonet's.

"Would you like to come with us?" I asked quietly. "That is, if you aren't already busy?"

I felt Tristan stiffen beside me, but the older knight shook his head ruefully.

"I regret that I already have business to attend to Ymma," he said, though I caught the look that passed between the two men, making me wonder if he was making the business up so Tristan could have me all to himself. I didn't know if that piece of information made me happy or nervous. I settled firmly on the latter, knowing that was the much safer option.

Suddenly I felt a tug on my skirt and I looked down to see Lucan gazing up at me, one little hand fisted in the material.

"Can I come?" He asked eagerly. I paused and looked up at Dagonet for permission. I had no such problem with him coming but I didn't want to just take him without checking with his new father figure.

Dagonet looked pointedly at the two of us. "If that is all right with the two of you?"

I shrugged and deliberately ignored the fact that Tristan wasn't looking the happiest I had ever seen him. Well, he would just have to put up with it.

"It's fine."

I turned to Lucan. "Are you sure you won't be bored?"

The little boy shook his head solemnly and I smiled. "Very well then, you may come." Lucan whooped and hugged Dagonet before bolting out the door, the dogs following after him.

I smiled at the amused man. "See you later."

"Bring the squirt home if he starts becoming a nuisance," he said in reply, and the way he said nuisance made me realise that clearly the knights and I had completely different ideas about what was going to happen this morning.

"I don't know what you're trying to insinuate Dag," I said eyes narrowed. "But don't worry because as this is a simple _hunting trip_, Lucan won't be a nuisance."

I turned on my heel and started walking off in the direction that Lucan and the hounds had gone in. Tristan and Dagonet exchanged words but I was too far away to hear what was being said. Whatever it was didn't take long to say, because, quicker than I would have liked Tristan was once again by my side.

"Exchanging a tender goodbye?" I asked sarcastically.

Tristan raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Why, are you jealous?"

I snorted and laughed. "No, I just never realised you and Dag were that close."

Tristan grinned. "If it bothers you, I can give you a tender goodbye too."

I smirked. "If you were going to say goodbye then that would mean you'd be going away- and the only reaction I'd have to that would be to have a celebration."

He clutched dramatically at his heart, "Ymma, you wound me with your words."

I rolled my eyes. "Aw, poor thing. Maybe you'd better stay at home and get Dag to look after you. I know you'd _love_ that."

Tristan sighed. "Why is it I get the distinct impression that you're trying to get rid of me?"

I pointed at my chest innocently. "Me? Try and get rid of you? Now where would you get a ridiculous idea like that? I'm just trying to make sure you don't ruin the special relationship you have with Dagonet. Can't have you jeopardising true love."

Tristan glared. "There's nothing going on between me and Dag!"

I hid a smile. I was enjoying this far too much; it was just that the poor man was far too easy to tease.

"Oh really?" I started to sing childishly. "Dagonet and Tristan sitting in a tree, K-I-S…"

"Stop, right there!" he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes, which unfortunately I didn't see.

"S-I-N…"

And at that moment I was cut off from speaking, Tristan's lips rather inconveniently muffling the rest of the letters as his mouth descended on mine, killing the rhyme with a hard kiss. The element of surprise caught me completely off guard, and I stood there stupidly for a few seconds letting him ravage my mouth, until instinct took over and I started kissing him back. And then logic and reason took over and I realised what I was doing.

So I stopped.

Or tried to at least.

Really.

It was only when there was a distinct low rumbling noise from close by me that I finally drew the strength to break apart.

Kaleb and Bruinen were growling at Tristan as Lucan stood staring at us, his mouth half open and a vaguely disgusted expression on his face.

My face started to glow and I cleared my throat.

"Right. Well, let's carry on shall we?"

Ignoring the smug expression on Tristan's face I strode off, trying to work out how he always managed to win this game that I hadn't even realised we'd been playing.

* * *

My hunger finally sated I relaxed against the broad expanse of a tree, one knee bent and my head resting against the rough bark. I let out a contented sigh and threw the half eaten rabbit leg to Kaleb, who snatched it out of the air and crunched happily on the bones. Lucan was sitting drowsily next to Bruinen who was curled up next to the dying fire. Tristan was leaning against the opposite tree to mine and stroking his hawk's feathers, murmuring words to it as he did so.

The sun was now high in the sky, but it was still dark on the forest floor, the thick branches of the trees filtering the sunlight down so that it fell in shafts of light, illuminating certain sections, and leaving others hidden.

Having eaten well, sleep was now steadily creeping upon us all and Lucan was the first to succumb to it. Although he had already eaten at Dagonet's, he had eagerly wolfed down the meat he had been offered and had tired himself out running around with the hounds. There was only so much a little body could handle and the boy seemed to have completely tired himself out for the moment.

Sensing that nothing was going to be happening for a while and that they could now relax the dogs also decided to rest, though whilst they were in the forest they would never completely be asleep, always keeping one ear open for danger as they dozed lightly.

Tristan spoke final words to his hawk, and then it took off in a magnificent display of feathers and flew upwards and out into the clear midday sky. He then pulled himself up from his own position opposite me and walked over, only to drop gracefully next to my own spot.

"Yes?" I drawled lazily, feeling the after effects of a good meal. "Was there something you wanted?"

Tristan stretched his arms out in front of him and shrugged.

"No," he said, "but the view's a lot better this way."

I punched his arm playfully. "Are you saying that looking at a bunch of trees is better than looking at me?"

He grinned and I pursed my lips.

"Thanks a lot Tristan," I said, "you really know how to flatter a girl."

The man merely smirked and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, so that I could lean my body against his, my head resting on his chest.

"I had assumed that flattery would get me nowhere."

I poked his chest. Hard. Clearly today I was channelling my more violent tendencies. "But insults will get you even less far."

Though I couldn't see him, I felt him smile and he squeezed my shoulder.

"So I am never to win our arguments then?"

"Nope," I said and grinned, "because I am always right."

* * *

That night I fell asleep with relative ease, snuggled up next to Alric in the bed.

There wasn't exactly room for two, but neither of us wanted to put the other on the floor. We'd tried the top-to-toe method, but waking up to my brother's feet in my face every morning was not a pleasant experience and so we'd decided to simply lump it and be slightly squashed sleeping the same way. And there was also the fact that top-to-toe had been rather painful for Alric, as I had frequently kicked him in the face during the night.

Accidentally of course.

But that night something haunted my dreams. Something dark and vaguely human shaped. It was at the very edges of my vision and as I moved forward it moved forward to. I tried to run away but it followed me, as though attached invisibly and suddenly I tripped and fell flat on my face, straight into a boggy marsh that had appeared out of nowhere. Spitting out the foul water I peered around me, but I was surrounded by thick white fog. Feeling increasingly claustrophobic as the fog closed in around me, pressing against my chest, trying to smother me, and desperate to get away from whatever was chasing me, I spotted the shape of a man in the distance. Clawing my way through the fog, trying to bat it out of the way, I reached out and grabbed the figure by the arm. He turned and I found myself screaming.

Tristan's rotting face stared back at me, his skin sagging from the skull, pulling away grotesquely at the mouth, to leave the gums and rotten teeth exposed, in the mockery of a grin. I yanked my arm back in horror and he advanced on me, his arms wide open to embrace me. I turned to run but my legs felt like lead and I couldn't move anywhere. Any moment now and he would have me in his arms, pressing my face into the decaying flesh of his chest. Any moment…

Someone was screaming and I blinked and realised it was me. Alric's concerned face peered into mine, his arm resting on my shoulder as he sat on the edge of the bed. Thank the gods I had woken up when I had.

"_Atelic gemætan_?" He guessed and I nodded, thankful that it was at least only a dream. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

I shook my head and he pulled me closer to him. I leant my head on his shoulder and tried to put the horrible nightmare out of my head. He began to stroke my hair and I noticed his hands were like mine, long and tapered but where his were weathered and calloused from holding a sword and bow, mine were worn from living in the woods and in the open air my whole life.

"What were you doing up?" I asked, changing the subject. He'd come and sat on my side of the bed so I assumed he had already woken up at some point during the night, and was no doubt contemplating life, staring out of the window, when I had started to have my nightmare.

"Thinking."

"Oh? About what?"

There was no reply but then I hadn't really expected one. We sat in companiable silence for a while as I calmed down from the dream and the soothing motions of his hands relaxed us both. It reminded me of when Dathan used to do exactly the same thing when I had been with him for only a few short weeks. I had had nightmares constantly after my parents had sold me, nightmares of being abandoned all over again and each night Dathan had woken me and held me tightly, as I sobbed into his tunic jacket.

Thinking of Dathan reminded me of home, and I voiced the question that had been running around my head for a while.

"You're going home soon."

It wasn't really a question but Alric faltered in running his fingers through my dark strands and answered anyway.

"Yes." His voice was sharp and taut, a bowstring pulled tight before being released.

I'd wondered where he had been passing the months after the battle whilst I spent my time with the knights, my woad friends, healing and talking with them. Turned out that Alric had begun to build a boat, a ship to take him back across the sea, back home. He talked quietly about it, but with confidence. He had been a fisherman before being a soldier, and it is a poor fisherman who can't build his own boat. It was a sign of proficiency and one of the first tests to pass. My father had built his own, and his father before him and so on and so forth, and now it appeared Alric would build a second one, having built his original one for his fishing.

"I'm a third of the way through," he said. "I need to make sure the planks are all pressed together tightly and in order and then fasten the plank laps with treenails. It also all needs to be sealed with tarred moss." He frowned. "Which always seems to be the longest job."

"How long do you think you have left?" I asked, curiosity and worry threading my voice.

"A good couple of months," he considered. "Four or five."

And that was all the time I seemed to have left in the world. The most pressing question flashed in my head - would I stay here when Alric finished or go with him? Either outcome presented an unhappy prospect. Lose my brother and the only remaining family I had left, or lose my friends and potential lover. My heart ached with the thought of leaving Tristan behind, but I knew I couldn't bear to let my brother go either.

I sighed and rubbed my head, which was starting to ache.

Alric looked pointedly at me. "You ought to try and get some more sleep."

I shook my head – that was the last thing I wanted to do now. Distracting my mind from dwelling on the nightmare and my current problems seemed the best plan of action.

"Now that that is out of the way, tell me…what are my niece and nephews like?"

My brother's face lit up and I settled down for a very long conversation. After all I had a lot to catch up on. It was good to have family again.

* * *

Time passes quickly when you don't have much of it left. I told no-one of my conversation with Alric and kept his heavy words in my heart only. Why burden others with my dilemma, when only I could make the choice anyway?

One hunting trip seemed to have turned into a regular occurrence, and Tristan and I seemed to be spending most of our days together.

I slowly found that I was beginning to cherish the time I spent around him, and that our conversations were slowly becoming more serious, and less about banter and mocking each other. I didn't seem to mind that we could talk properly to each other without sliding in an insult (though I couldn't resist the odd one now and again) and often our conversations would turn to our homelands, though my heart always twinged when I realised that I was discussing one option, whilst the other option held me in his arms, against the bough of a thick oak tree.

Tristan was reticent to speak about his old home, and it would take my constant prodding him to get him to open up more. As for myself I could only remember my home in terms of my childish memories. Most of my memories circled around Dathan and our travels, and Tristan seemed fascinated about the other peoples and their cultures. Or at least he enjoyed watching my mouth form the words.

Men. Always one thing on their mind.

On one point though we always disagreed. Tristan believed in no gods, whereas I on the other hand believed in them without doubt. I may have been disrespectful, often annoyed, and frequently questioning, but my faith in them was a constant in my life. Either that or I had been talking to myself for these past few years.

Neither of us was budging. He thought I was crazy and I thought he was stubborn and close-minded. But I suppose no relationship is complete without a little friction. And there was the fact that we perversely seemed to enjoy our arguments. Mainly because Tristan seemed to delight in ending them.

And that's when it hit me. I seemed to have unknowingly fallen into a relationship with the knight. And it was rapidly becoming serious on my side. I had no idea how Tristan felt about any of it, or whether he thought that we were friends who enjoyed kissing each other, or what. I had no idea if he thought I was just something casual and was waiting for the right woman to come along. We never talked about the thing between us and I found myself unable to speak on the topic when he was near. The words caught in my throat and died.

The weeks and months ticked by and suddenly my time was up. My five months had come to an end. Just when I had been given the chance to form something solid with a man who I was gradually coming to love, it was all snatched away from me. Indecision plagued me. What to do, who to choose?

Fortunately fate intervened in an unforeseen way. Guinevere and Arthur had announced that they were to be married the following month and everyone was in a flurry trying to get everything sorted. There was Guinevere's dress to be made and Arthur to convince into having a new tunic made up and Vanora to be convinced to cook for everyone, and a host of other jobs to be created and then completed by people who were entirely too concerned with looking like they had something to do.

Having both been invited to see them wed each other, it was a fairly easy task to convince Alric to let me stay an extra month or two to see them happily married. Hopefully by that time I would have made up my mind.

I had no other choice. I was now living on borrowed time.

* * *

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_General information:_

Atelic gemætan- bad dream


	10. Wedding Preparations

**Title**: Runic Fortunes

**Author's note**: This is my first foray into the world of King Arthur. Any historical inaccuracies or otherwise are to be put down to writers license.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

"Ymma!"

I turned my head at the sound of my name, watching as Guinevere hurried up to where I sat at the cliff edge, legs dangling, overlooking the roar of the sea and the spray that leapt up angrily at the hovering gulls.

"You're not going to do anything drastic are you?"

I grinned up at her, patting the grass next to me to indicate that she could sit down. "Don't be silly," I replied. "I'd prefer a less melodramatic death thank you; I have none of your romantic tendencies."

"What!" Guinevere laughed. "You're one of the most romantic people I know."

"But you know Bors," I pointed out. "Anybody's romantic compared to him."

She shook her head and laughed. "Oh don't deny it. Everybody knows about you and Tristan."

I felt my cheeks flush and smelling blood Guinevere pounced. "So when should we be hearing about the big announcement?"

"Big announcement? I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself here. Clearly your own nuptials are addling your brains."

She shot me a look. "Don't be coy."

"I am not being coy," I protested. "Tristan and I haven't even discussed our relationship, if that's what it even is."

Guinevere's face turned into a puzzled frown. "But surely he's told you he loves you, hasn't he?"

"No." I shook my head, eyes firmly trained on the coast in front of me.

"But you love him don't you?"

"I..." The words stuck in my throat and I gave a perfect Gaelic shrug. "I don't know."

"_You don't know?_" she repeated, her voice low and edged with surprise. "How can you not even know your own feelings?"

"It's complicated."

The words came out more harshly than I had intended, but I didn't apologise for the tone and we sat there in silence just watching the sea crash against the rocks. I desperately wanted to tell her that I knew perfectly well how I felt, but that if I admitted it out loud then that made it permanent. A statement that I could not retract. A mark that I could never be rid of. And my time to decide if I was to leave or to stay was rapidly drawing closer. No-one yet knew that I could leave this island at any time, and the pain of having to tell my friends this news was a dull ache in my chest.

If I told Tristan my feelings would he ask me to stay? If I told him and he felt nothing but affection then surely it would make leaving all the more painful. Better to go and never know then to leave with a broken heart.

It was not until this final thought crossed my mind that I realised that I was set on leaving after all. I wanted to see my brother's family. I wanted to see the world again. I wanted to see my homeland. To once again cross over the sea and walk in the village where I had grown up. To see the people I had known as a little girl. To greet them after so many years and eat with them in their houses. To tell strange tales with them round the fire and speak my native tongue without fear. My taste for travel was still with me and a homesickness that I had never felt so strongly before was swallowing me up. I would leave after the wedding. Unless…

Tristan's features once again appeared in my mind's eye. Unless Tristan asked me to stay for him. However, first of all I had to break the news to Guinevere. It was only fair I supposed that she hear first. She had been the first person on this island that I had befriended and I owed it to the Woad to let her know.

"I'm leaving."

The words were blunt and heavy, and for once I found myself at a loss of how to cushion the impact of the words that were falling out of my mouth, like stones dropped from a great height into soft, unsuspecting earth.

"What?" Guinevere's head whipped round to face mine. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm leaving," I replied, trying to be gentle but failing miserably. "After the wedding Alric an…"

"It's your brother isn't it?" she said angrily. "I knew this was going to happen as soon as you found him again. I knew he would take you away from us."

"Guin," I said softly, knowing her anger was irrational and misplaced, "this was always going to happen. I am a wanderer; my feet were not made to stay in one place for very long."

She turned to face the sea again, her face as hard as rock. I tried again.

"Alric and I are leaving after the wedding and we are going home- I'm going to see my family again." I attempted a smile but it was very little, and it felt as though it was going to drop off at any moment unless I concentrated very hard on not watching as I made my friend cry.

"I'm going to see my niece and nephews that I didn't even know I had. Old friends and neighbours that I grew up with as a girl. I haven't seen them since I was seven summers old, and my old village, the lands that I played on as a child."

"And your parents too I suppose." Guinevere's voice was flat, as though she were trying not to care too much about what I did.

I flinched at the mention of my parents. The old pain still hurt and I knew I could never forgive them for what they had done.

"They're dead," I said, "and good riddance."

Guinevere stifled a gasp at my callousness but I didn't care. They had been my own flesh and blood and yet they had only really cared about my brother. Alric told me they had died suddenly one winter of cold or plague or hunger, or some other terrible thing that struck our village every once in a while, but I was just not listening to the details to catch the finer points of their demise. All that mattered to me was that the two lumps of clay that had once been related to me through an unfortunate accident were now gone. Dathan was the only parent I had truly had.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand Guinevere pulled me into a hug. I held her tightly, trying to remember this for the long time that I knew I would not see her. When she finally pulled back I offered her a genuine smile.

"I will return," I said. "After all, I do have wanderer's feet and even the call of home will not be enough to keep me there forever."

Guinevere smiled half-heartedly. "I know, but it still hurts that you're going, and that I won't know how you are or what you are doing for who knows how long." She looked at me seriously for a moment. "Are you going to tell the others?"

We both knew perfectly well who she really meant. "Yes," I said. "Soon."

The moment was broken by the sound of Vanora's voice echoing across the cliff top. "Are you two goin' to be sittin' there all day or are you actually goin' to help me make this weddin' dress of yours?"

We shared a grin and I stood up, extending my hand to help Guinevere from the ground. "Come on," I said. "It looks like your wedding plans wait for no man."

She laughed. "Not with Vanora in charge of them they don't."

* * *

Guinevere's wedding was going to be a strange mix of Roman and Ancient Woad practices I thought to myself, as I pulled the needle through the hem of Guinevere's dress. I mentioned this casually as the bride-to-be twirled about in her newly made cream confection, pulling the needle out of my hand as the skirt flew about.

"Guinevere!" Vanora shook her head at the young woman and pointed in my direction, making sympathetic clucking sounds. "You are not makin' this easy on Ymma. How is she to ever make a decent skirt end if you are determined to make it all higgledy piggledy?"

"Sorry."

She didn't actually sound sorry at all I thought sulkily, as I searched around for wherever my needle was dangling from. Spotting the glint of silver amongst the material I picked it up and began the process of trying to redo the line of the dress which was now going up at an angle.

"Anyway what was that you were sayin'?" said Vanora as she cut material for Arthur's tunic.

"I said the wedding is going to be an interesting combination of cultures." I watched my fingers as the needle flashed through the material, tiny neat strokes pulling the thread through.

Guinevere fingered the cloth and smiled. "Yes, of course. United we bring both peoples together- it would be odd not to include both of our practices in the ceremony itself." Curiosity suddenly coloured her voice. "What are weddings like in your homeland?"

"Well," I pondered, my mind half on the task in front of me, half trying to remember what I could of weddings in general. "The bards tell us that originally a man would steal the woman of his choice from another tribe. With the help of his friends he would capture her whilst they fought off any other men, and then once they had fled they were hidden for a lunar month 'til the woman was pregnant. By the time they were found it would be too late."

I picked at a loose thread and undid the stitch. "But those practices soon died out- they were only ever re-enacted for a joke or a festival. Marriage by purchase became the preferred custom, being less stressful for all involved. The men agreed the 'bride-price' and that was it. Women were bought for breeding purposes and sold for land, status or political alliances."

I tied the thread and then began to trim any loose pieces. "I've only witnessed one wedding, because I left my village when I was very young, but I can remember it was a wonderful occasion…

* * *

The Ealdorman of our village was a young man named Cynefrid whose father had gone to fight wars in the northern parts of the country, leaving his son in charge of the lands that he ruled over. His son had always been a disappointment to him, being considerably more gentle, thoughtful and not as bloody minded as his father, who was always thirsty for war and slaughter. He was a just ruler, and I often heard my parent's whispered conversations when they thought we were asleep about how Cynefrid was a much better man than his father ever had been.

The time soon came for Cynefrid to take a wife. He was friendly with the Ealdorman of the village neighbouring ours, Aelred and his family, and knew that a marriage between the tribes would cement an alliance. The tale goes that when he went to find a wife from amongst Aelred's large family he immediately fell for the youngest daughter, a beautiful young woman named Sunniva. Not expecting to find such a kind and handsome man as Cynefrid to wed, Sunniva was apparently just as taken with him, and the two fell deeply in love. A love match between the Ealdormen was virtually unheard of, and so the wedding became even more of a special event then it had originally been intended.

Every woman from the two villages became a bridesmaid, because the happiness of the couple depended on our ability to fool the evil spirits, jealous of the joy of the new couple. I can remember finding my finest dress to wear and dancing and singing with the rest of the village. Sunniva looked stunning in her simple dress and crown of May flowers. The wedding ceremony itself didn't take very long to complete, though the site had to be blessed first to make it holy and to ward off any forces which may have dampened the wedding celebrations. Aelred passed the rings on the hilt of his sword, showing that the honour of both clans was now tied up in the couple, and Cynefrid touched his young bride's head with his shoe, accepting the authority that had now passed over to him. Together they planted a young sapling in the middle of the village, which would grow and mature as their married life continued, and after the celebratory dinner we accompanied them to their marriage home, our torches burning brightly against the darkness of the night.

* * *

"That's a lovely story," said Vanora, her own needle now flashing through the tunic.

Guinevere cocked her head on one side thoughtfully. "Ymma, would you mind terribly if I asked you to bless the site for me?"

I laughed. "Do you really need the help of foreign gods to secure your happiness?"

She pouted. "No," she said. "But it would be nice if you were included somehow in the marriage celebrations- can you remember what you have to do?"

I nodded. "Yes, Dathan taught me all the rituals and incantations I'd ever need in life. All I need now is a clear night tonight, purified water and a torch. The spell itself will take about an hour to complete, but it will be no problem to do."

Guinevere chewed her lip. "Can I watch?"

"Yes; but you must remain absolutely silent throughout no matter what happens. Do you understand?" She nodded and I leaned back on my heels to admire the finished hem.

"There," I said. "All done." She twirled round in the dress, her cheeks flushed and her curled hair bouncing softly on her shoulders.

"How do I look?"

Vanora sighed and clasped her hands together. "Lovely my dear, like a proper bride."

"Ymma?"

"Hmm? Oh, you look fantastic Guin."

"And how do I compare to your Sunniva?"

"You look beautiful," I said softly, and she beamed at me. I was suddenly glad that I had not told them the rest of the tale, leaving the bride-to-be with only the happy part of the story.

* * *

For a short while, Cynefrid and Sunniva were very happy together. They were soon blessed with a baby son that they called Leofwine, a lovely little thing with the fair hair of his mother and the eyes of his father, who laughed often and loved to play with the shining silver pendant that hung around his mother's neck- her _morgen-gifu_.

But their happiness was soon cut short. Raiders from one of the rival tribes in the north came riding down one dark winter evening, carrying off livestock and women. Cynefrid and Aelred banded their men together to fight the invaders and went off to war, leaving behind their wives and children, with only a few men left behind as watchmen.

I was asleep when I heard the first screams…

* * *

"Alric! Alric! What's happening?"

Terrified my heart thundered in my chest as the screaming continued, a woman's cries for help deafening in the silence of the night. I clung to my elder brother as we both raced outside the hut, only a little way behind my mother and father who came to a sudden standstill at the sight in front of them.

The Ealdorman hall was on fire, flames licking the thatched roof and shooting high up into the sky, thick smoke covering everything, choking the stars. The heavy wooden doors had been bolted shut by our enemies who had ridden off into the dark, laughing. They were now a roaring inferno, barring any way of escape. And all the time over the noise of the crackling fire that was eating everything in sight, came the screaming. Sunniva's screams as she tried to protect her baby from the fire that was burning them alive.

Tears ran down my face as we watched helpless. Buckets of water were being thrown onto the fire and my parents rushed to help too, but it was like a single teardrop trying to quench a log fire. The heat made it almost impossible to stand very close to the hall at all, and I tried not to think about Sunniva and the baby, skin slowly blistering and peeling as the fire licked at them, burning them slowly and painfully. I heard prayers being shouted out to the gods for help but that night nobody listened.

Not one of those divine beings cared if one woman and her infant became blackened corpses. Smoking ash.

Sunniva's terrible pleas for help grew to a crescendo until there was a great crack! The roof of the hall slowly collapsed inwards, the thick beams having split under the insatiable appetite of the fire and it all came crashing down. After that there was only silence.

Cynefrid and Aelred came back home the next day, smiling and grinning in their victory. The raiders had been slaughtered and there would be peace now. Until they saw the smoking ruins of the hall.

I can remember Cynefrid's eyes frantically scanning the huddled group of villagers for the faces of his wife and child. I can remember he asked my father where Sunniva and Leofwine were, his voice pleading, pleading for him to tell him that they were safe and alive, hidden away somewhere. Alive and waiting for him.

My father's voice cracked as he spoke the hated words to Cynefrid and his eyes… I remember his eyes. How they died slowly as my father told him that his beloved wife and child were gone. That they were now buried under the still warm remains of the hall. And that he would never see them again.

His eyes will always stay with me. Because the light and the love in them became nothing; gone, destroyed just as easily as they had been, and I know he must have pictured their screams in his mind, Sunniva crying out for him to save them, for anyone to save them.

One month after the official mourning period ended, and a new hall stood in place of the old one, Cynefrid changed his name from its peaceful meaning to that of the ruler his father had always wanted him to be. He rode off to join his father in war and left the village behind, with all of it's now hateful memories buried with his family.

I remember those eyes well. Because they became the eyes of Cynric. The son of Cerdic had once been a good man.

But even good men break. And in the end that was all that my Ealdormann became. Broken and empty inside. Just waiting. Waiting for death to come and release him.

I prayed that he had found his peace, reunited with his wife and child in the afterlife.

* * *

That night I went and purified myself in the stream that ran close by, pouring the water over my head and hands and feet. I put on a simple white dress that Vanora leant me and gathered up my rune bag, heading for the cliff where the ceremony was to take place. The spell could be done without the runes but I wanted them to balance out my magik, and I could use them to boost the spell and also to ground me. The spirits I would be invoking tonight could turn hostile if I was not careful.

When I got there, more than just Guinevere met me. I raised an eyebrow at the assembled faces of the knights together with Vanora and Lucan, looking to the Woad for an explanation.

She shrugged helplessly. "They wanted to come and watch."

"All right," I said, unsure as to why they would want to come and watch what should be a simple warding spell. "But you must remember these two rules. You can't speak at all, no matter what you see or what happens. And under no circumstances are you to go inside the sacred area marked out by the runes. Do you understand?"

There was a chorus of assents and aye's and I motioned for them to find a comfortable spot to watch. I measured out the site, deciding where to place my runes and on which point each one would go. I was using five runes tonight, four to guard the site and one to focus all of my energy on, which would provide the force for the spell.

Taking a deep breath I took Sigel out of the bag and placed it the north point of the diamond shape I was forming. Sigel was a good rune to use because it would ensure safety in the undertaking and safety in the ceremony tomorrow. It was also good for destroying any evil spirits that may have been lurking around.

The second rune I pulled out of the sack was Ing, used to promote peace and romantic love. An ideal choice for warding a wedding site. This was placed at the east point of the diamond.

The south point of the diamond was also a defensive marker and I was using Eolh-secg, directly linking it with the north point. I needed plenty of protection for the warding and these two runes would provide ample support, ensuring that everything would go well tomorrow.

The final point of the diamond- the west- was covered by Dæg, in magik being used to achieve happiness, and it would also link with Ing, combing happiness with love so that the two were now inextricably linked together.

Clasping the burning torch I had brought with me I touched each of the points and then struck the stake deep into the middle of the ground of the diamond. Standing in the middle just a little behind so that if I stretched out my hands they reached over the flames, I clasped the rune Wynn tightly in my right hand. Wynn is my favourite rune because it governs the harmony of humans. It is the rune of wishes coming true and of dreams about to be fulfilled. I could not think of a more suitable rune through which to channel my power.

Closing my eyes I let myself relax and felt my hand shape the brightly burning form of Wynn in the air. My mouth opened of it's own accord and the ancient rhyme for warding weddings flowed out of my mouth, my own Saxon tongue and that of the British mixing together to cast it.

_" Fyr ic bere ymb friðgearde, _

Fire I bear around this sacred site,  
_Ond béode men frið fremman,_

And bid all men make peace,

_Líeg ic bere tó belúcan,_  
Flame I bear to enclose,

_Béode utlaga féran aweg! _

And bid evil spirits to flee!  
_Þunor wéoh, Þunor wéoh,_

Thor make sacred, Thor make sacred,  
_Þunor wéoh þisne ealh._  
Thor make sacred this holy site."

There was a sudden rush of wind and the flame of the torch grew higher and higher. I felt my hand shaking as the power of Wynn flowed out though it, and the power leapt from each rune flowing back into me, to be channeled out into the next words that I would speak- the most important of all.

_" Frige! eallcnáwestre fræfel gyden._  
Frige! All knowing cunning goddess.

_Esageardes cwén…cwémlic hláfidge.  
_Asgard's queen… pleasing lady.

_Biergst byrdum, bearn weardst._  
You guard births, ward the young.

_blétse sinhiwan swa bliss habban.  
_Bless the couple so that they will have bliss.

The wind died down suddenly, until everything was unnaturally still and silent. Not even the crickets were making a noise, nor could I hear the sea, the crash of waves on rock. I opened my eyes cautiously. The spell did not feel complete and I glanced over at the watching group with bated breath. Lucan looked like he was about to speak and I shook my head vigorously, unsure if everything was completed properly. I saw the knights all exchange glances, unnerved by the unnatural quiet.

Still nothing.

I was just about to unlock my fingers from where they were still clasping tightly to Wynn when I suddenly felt a thrill of energy race from my toes up to my head. Looking down I watched sparks of runic energy skittering from the ground up my body and out into the night sky, the warm amber tones seeping from the very earth I was standing on, like sparks of lightening retreating back into the heavens. Wary of what was happening I stood completely still as the streaks raced quicker and quicker up my body and into the sky, until I was covered in the warm light as it swirled around me, cocooning me from the outside world.

I started to drift slowly off the ground until my toes were barely grazing the grass below me and I hung, suspended in the middle of the light. Strangely I did not feel scared or worried about what was happening. It was as though suddenly everything clicked into place and I felt my mouth opening again to repeat again the first and last lines of the final incantation.

_" Frige! eallcnáwestre fræfel gyden._  
Frige! All knowing cunning goddess.

_blétse sinhiwan swa bliss habban.  
_Bless the couple so that they will have bliss!"

It was with no small amount of shock that I realised my voice was not my own anymore. Instead I heard the voices of every rune caster before me speak those words now, their voices a thrilling chorus of old and young, of male and female and I knew that one day future generations would hear my voice amongst them too.

There was a sudden burst of brilliant liquid light as the final words were spoken and I suddenly found myself flat on my back on the ground, my eyes gazing up at the stars and a stupid grin crossing my features.

Propping myself up on my elbows I turned my head languidly to where the group stood waiting anxiously at the edge of the diamond. They had taken my warning to heart and had not dared to cross over the rune lines, and as I felt the spell dissipate I motioned them over with a flick of my head as I flopped back onto the ground.

Worried faces peered down at me and I grinned back up at them as Tristan went behind me and gently scooped me up, bracing my back against his chest.

"_Ic þancie þe._" The words came out in my native tongue, but Tristan understood enough to know what I meant and I felt his soft voice mummer that I was welcome.

"Well?" Guinevere clasped Arthur's hand anxiously in her own. "Did it work?"

"Yes," I said tiredly. "The goddess has apparently taken a liking to you. Seems you have friends in some very high places." I grinned once more and then passed out into the waiting arms of Tristan.

So much for not being melodramatic.

* * *

**Please read and review. ****Don't lurk! Drop me and line and let me know your thoughts. If the thought of me replying scares you don't worry I'm not too odd lol. :D**

**Any comments, ideas or suggestions are welcome.**

_Runes used in Chapter: _

**Wynn:** Wynn is the rune of peace, the peace of mind one has when living in a community of caring individuals without the threat of such hardships as poverty, famine, or heartbreak. In magic, it can be used to achieve joy and happiness. Wynn is the rune of wishes, of dreams fulfilled, of togetherness and love. Wynn governs the harmony of humans, that which allows Mankind to live in peace and happiness.

**Sigel: **Can indicate a time of safety and happiness, a time of hope and safe journeys. In spell work it is especially good for ensuring safe journeys or safety in any undertaking.

**Ing: **Can indicate a prosperous period of peace, sometimes romantic love. In spellwork, it can be used to promote fertility and peacefulness.

**Dæg:** Means a change for the better is about to take place. In magic it can be used to achieve happiness and intuitive thoughts.

**Eolh-secg:** Indicates a period of safety and security or a time when safety and security is called for, it could indicate contact with the divine or that divine protection is coming. In spell work its primary use is related to defensive spells and warding.

_General information: _

**Ealdorman: **Saxon Chieftain

**Cynefrid: **Royal peace

**Aelred:**Noble Counsel

**Sunniva: **Sun gift

**Leofwine: **Beloved friend

**Cerdic: **War Chief

**Cynric:** Royal ruler

**_Ic þancie þe:_** Thank you

**Wedding:** From Saxon word "wedd," meaning to wager or gamble. It referred to the vow the man gave to marry another man's daughter or to the goods or bride price.

**Bride on the Left: **The first marriages were by capture. The groom, with the help of his warrior friends would steal into another tribe's camp and kidnap the woman of his choice. His friends covered his back and fought off any others with an interest in the woman. As the invading party fought off the other men, he would hold her with his left hand because his right hand was his sword hand. This is believed to be the root of the custom of the bride standing on the groom's left in the wedding ceremony.

**Best Man:** A man would take along his strongest and most trusted friend to help him fight resistance from the woman's family. This friend, therefore, was considered the best man among his friends. The best man accompanied the groom up the aisle to help defend the bride.

**Bridesmaids: **There to fool the evil spirits. Evil spirits, jealous of the happiness of the couple, would try to make mischief with them. To confuse the spirits, brides, (the most common target), and their grooms surrounded themselves with friends.

**Honey-Moon:** Because honey and the moon were tied to fertility, the couple drank only honey mead and remained in hiding for one full lunar cycle, (twenty-eight days), a honey-moon. By the time they were found, the bride was already pregnant.

**Transfer of Authority: **Saxon- Groom touches brides head with shoe which represents transfer of authority over from father to husband.

**Sword:**The exchange of heirloom weapons to mark the union of two families linked not only man to woman but clan to clan. The poem _Ruodlieb_, written in Latin circa 1050 by a German poet/monk (possibly of the Bavarian foundation of Tagernsee) contains a description of a wedding in which the bride is passed a ring on the hilt of a sword. This underscores the seriousness of the bond now between husband and wife - the honour of the young couple is now linked to the honour of the family sword.

**Planting a tree: **The tree represented married life together. The tree would grow to become a sacred symbol in one's life, a potent symbol of regeneration for the family - a reminder of one's place in eternity, a link with both past and future generations who revered it. It was customary at a wedding for the groom to thrust his sword into the tree to judge from the resultant gash what the luck of his marriage would be, and in a difficult childbirth, the wife would invoke or even clasp the tree for assistance. Such trees were, then, 'guardians' of the well-being of the people.

**Morning gift:** The _morgen-gifu_ or morning gift was as costly a present as the new husband could afford (as it was a point of social pride to him, and status to his new wife). The nature of it was a complete surprise to the bride. It might be an exceptionally beautiful piece of jewellery, a wooden chest or jewel casket, anything that would please her. If she had been given a ring at the ceremony he might give her quite a simple one then and a magnificent one in the morning after they are truly man and wife.


	11. The Space Between

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

**Captain! Angst dead ahead! ****All translations provided at the bottom.**

* * *

The wedding was as beautiful as I had imagined.

"Arthur, Guinevere." Merlin smiled as he joined the couple's hands together. "Our people are one as you are. Hail, King Arthur!"

"King Arthur! Hail!"

I couldn't contain a small bounce of joy as everyone shouted their response. "Hail Arthur!"

"Artorius!"

Bor's voice echoed over everyone's and I added my own salutation in Saxon, our voices crowding the air until we were a mass of sound, ringing out.

"_Lange libben Arthur cyning!"_

* * *

After the wedding itself had ended I headed over to where Guinevere and Arthur were crowded round with happy well wishers. Managing to squeeze in between Galahad and Gawain, I grabbed at Guinevere's wrist and pulled her out of the circle so that we had some space to ourselves.

"Congratulations!" I embraced her and she laughed.

"Thank you."

"I have a wedding present for you."

"I thought the site blessing was our present? You don't need to give us anything else."

I smiled. "Don't be silly." Alric walked up behind us dragging a large sack which he proceeded to dump in front of the confused woad.

She looked up at me quizzically.

"Go on then, open it up."

Cautiously pulling on the rope that tied up the top she gave it a sharp tug and then frowned up at me as she peered inside.

"Dirt. You've bought me a bag of dirt." She paused. "This isn't one of your more obscure customs is it that I don't know about?"

Alric and I shared a look before we both burst out laughing.

"No, Guin. And anyway it's not just dirt, it's _magik_ dirt."

Guinevere didn't look anymore impressed. If anything she now looked more confused than ever.

"I think it's time for a practical demonstration. Alric, if you would be so kind?"

The bemused bride shot me a look. "Why Alric?"

"He can throw better."

My brother reached into the sack and grabbed a fistful of soil and then grinned up at us. "Make a wish."

"You cannot be serious."

I elbowed her. "Go on, say what you want, first thing that comes into your head, say it out loud."

She sighed. "Oh I don't know… a flock of doves."

Alric raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. "Give the lady what she wants…just be prepared to run and cover."

He nodded, and with that he raised his hand back and then thrust it up into the air at high speed, letting go of the dirt as it was flung into the air.

"_Awendan!"_

It wasn't dirt for very long.

No less than three seconds after the soil soared into the sky it shivered slightly. Shimmering for a moment, there was a flash of amber light and just before the soil began to descend again it turned into a group of twelve snow white doves, wings outstretched on the breeze.

They circled once in the air, swooped down amongst the guests in a line and then back up into the air where they hovered for a moment, before heading inland towards the forest trees.

Soon they were only small gleaming specks in the distance.

I stepped out from underneath the tree branches where I'd run for cover and gingerly walked around the white stains on the ground. A few of the guests had not been so lucky. There was silence as the entire wedding party turned to look at Alric and I.

Oops.

"Sorry about that." I blushed and avoided eye contact. "It's always a consequence with the bird wishes. We've never done one yet where it hasn't happened."

Guinevere's face was a study in shock.

"Well?" I said. "Do you like it?"

Shaking herself out of her stupor she grinned at me and then grabbed me in a hug.

"That's amazing!" she blurted out. "Not quite what I was expecting but it was still quite brilliant."

"Well Alric and I weren't quite prepared for you to wish for doves." I glanced around and noticed Tristan's hawk was nowhere to be seen. "Although to be honest, I don't think you're going to have them around for very much longer."

Alric was tying up the sack top. "Now we were quite prepared for anything else. We'd expected you to wish for gold maybe or…"

"It does _gold_?"

"Well, yes…"

"Does it do women?"

I shot Lancelot a look at his suggestion. "It only works for material objects…"

"So why doesn't it do women?"

Every woman present suddenly turned in Lancelot's direction. He gulped.

"It was a joke?"

"Hilarious." I rolled my eyes. "Now as I was saying it will only do objects, so things like money and clothes, plus small animals and birds like the doves. Anything that won't mind falling from a height. Don't try doing anything bigger than a dog because the results are not pleasant, and believe me we've tried." I ticked the things off on my fingers. "So that's a no to horses, cows, boats, houses etc, and never, never do people." I paused and looked at Alric. "Is that everything?"

"The magik word is _awendan_ and…er…don't throw it over yourself."

I nodded in agreement. "Yes, even if you're not wishing for anything don't try it. The magik is pretty strong so if you don't say anything it'll just pick up on your unconscious thoughts instead. And that can lead to some pretty dire consequences."

Alric hefted the bag over his shoulder. "Don't waste it. Remember you only need a handful at a time, and this sack is not bottomless. Oh, and don't let it get wet."

"Why not?" said Guinevere worriedly.

I laughed. "Because then you've got magik mud. And that's just daft."

* * *

That night, after the celebrations had died down and the wedding feast was over, when all the guests and villagers had long gone to bed, I found myself sitting next to the fire with only the knights, my brother and the newlyweds left.

The conversation flowed easily, no doubt due to the amount of alcohol that had been consumed by the knights that day. In fact, Vanora had almost completely run out of mead and was down to her very last barrels. Of course, Bors had some stockpiled somewhere, but was keeping silent on the subject and refused to divulge the whereabouts, despite several threats from his friends. Lancelot, Galahad and Gawain had tried to tackle him, trying to get him to submit, but the three had not met with success and now sported rather impressive bruises for their efforts.

"Give up lads," chuckled Bors, draining his mug. "Ye'll never know where I stored it all."

The men grumbled in response and Guinevere and I shared a knowing look.

"And you lot call yourselves great fighting legends? You're just a bunch of whiny alcoholics."

"Oi! Tristan keep your woman in line will you?" said Lancelot clutching at his heart. "That last comment really hurt."

"Poor thing," I cooed sarcastically.

"You could always come and kiss it better."

I snorted. "You couldn't handle a real woman."

Lancelot smirked. "I will gladly _handle_ you anytime you like."

There was a roar of noise from the knights and I rolled my eyes. "I don't know how you get so many women."

"He gets 'em drunk first and then they don't mind!" called out Gawain, before dodging a punch from Lancelot.

"Well I knew it couldn't be his charm. Drugging them with alcohol explains a lot."

"I'll have you know women fall at my feet!"

"Passed out unconscious?"

Tears streamed down my face as I laughed helplessly. Several of the other knights were also shaking with mirth at Lancelot's expense. I almost felt sorry for him, but teasing him was far too much fun.

"Women would kill to get into my bed."

"Ay, you're right there," agreed Bors. "They kill 'emselves before they have to go through with it."

Lancelot tried one last ditch attempt to rescue his pride amid the gales of laughter. My sides were starting to hurt from laughing so much and even my dogs were beating their tails against the floor enthusiastically, though they had no idea what was so funny.

"All right! What about this: I once had three women in my bed at the same time."

There was a stunned silence before Bors broke in again smirking. "Now that's just the alcohol talkin'. You once 'ad a woman who was the _size_ of three women in your bed…"

There was another roar of laughter from his friends as Lancelot pouted like a little boy in indignation. I almost expected him to stamp his foot. But then the moment passed and he grinned easily before shrugging and raising his mug to his lips.

"Whatever works."

* * *

Eventually, the laughter gradually died down and we soon fell into a comfortable silence, watching the fire crackle in the hearth.

"So." Arthur smiled over at where I sat, resting my head against Tristan's shoulder. "When do we expect to have to congratulate the next happy couple?"

Guinevere shifted uncomfortably next to her husband as I felt my brother tense next to me.

"Arthur, you shouldn't ask such questions," she frowned.

"I was only teasing my love," he said. "I meant no offence."

Alric got up quietly and then yawned widely. "I am suddenly very tired," he said stretching out his arms above his head.

I rolled my eyes. Very subtle.

He turned to a bemused Arthur and an embarrassed Guinevere. "I hope you have many happy years ahead of you." Alric then turned and glanced between me and Tristan before speaking rapidly.

"_Gif ge onhweorfan eower ferð ic gewill ne beon hathear_."

I shook my head, firm in my decision. "_Ic gelust ne lang._"

He shook his head sadly. "_Don ne beon __cuðlic."_

Ignoring everyone's confused expression I watched my brother climb the stairs to his room, before taking a gulp of my mead.

"Would anyone care to explain what that was all about?" asked Arthur glancing between his wife and me.

Dagonet drummed his fingers against his thigh. "What haven't you told us?"

I sighed. Alone with the wolves.

"There's no easy way for me to tell you this, but… I'm leaving."

There was a stunned silence.

"P...pardon?" asked Arthur. Tristan had gone unnaturally still next to me and I didn't dare look at his expression.

"I'm going back with Alric. I won't be staying here."

"But, but when are you going?" Galahad's face pulled into a frown.

"As soon as the wind changes," I replied. "I said that I'd stay for the wedding and I've fulfilled that promise, but it's time for me to leave now."

Tristan got up silently from his seat beside me and stormed out of the room.

"Tristan… Tristan!"

But he didn't turn back and I remained where I was, suddenly aware of the cold space next to me. I sighed and scrubbed my hair back from my face. His reaction was about what I had expected but it still hurt.

"Give him some time to cool down," said Dagonet. "It's a bit of a shock, for all of us."

"Not quite," said Arthur looking at Guinevere. "You knew but you didn't say anything?"

"It was not her burden to tell," I said, jumping to my friend's defence. "And I swore her to secrecy anyway. I didn't want your wedding preparations to be eclipsed by my impending departure."

"But not all of us will see it that way," said Dagonet, nodding his head towards the empty doorway and the cold night air. "That is not going to be a pleasant conversation."

The knot of dread in my stomach weighed heavier.

"You can't blame him though," said Bors, scratching his stubble. "He's just found out the woman 'e loves is goin' to leave 'im and it looked like she wasn't goin' to tell 'im till it was too late."

"Well, I was going to tell him at some point," I mumbled, ashamed with myself. "It was just, there was never a good time, and … hey, wait, he does _not_ love me!"

Everyone looked at me.

"He doesn't!" I protested.

"Of course not," said Lancelot patronisingly. "That's why he's just stalked out of this room like he wants to go and kill something. Because his feelings for you are really fairly lukewarm. A good strong drink will kill them right off."

I glared at him, though this gradually wilted under the knowledge that the womanising knight might actually be right for once.

"He doesn't love me," I repeated, if admittedly a little stubbornly. "At least, he's never said so."

"But this is Tristan we're talking about though," said Guinevere patiently. "He isn't exactly what one would call talkative."

"True but still…I…"

"Don't think you've got much of an argument do you?"

I nodded morosely. What if I'd somehow been horribly mistaken and had been reading the messages wrongly. I knew Tristan obviously felt a great deal for me, but love? I knew how I felt about him- the rampaging butterflies in my stomach were clear testament to that, but Tristan was so reserved. So controlled. In fact storming out of the room had been one of the most violent displays of emotion I had ever seen from him outside of a battlefield. But if the others thought…and they had known him much longer…

"I suppose I'd better go and find him, hadn't I?" There was a wave of nods. I swallowed down the last of my mead and then pushed myself up from my bench.

"Right. Okay. I can do this."

I sat back down again.

"Or I could wait until morning when I can…"

"Blasted girl- just go and tell 'im you love 'im before I throw you out!"

By the look in Bor's eye I knew he wasn't joking. I hurried out the door before peeking back round to look back at Guinevere. She smiled reassuringly at me before Bors roared once more.

"OUT!"

* * *

It wasn't hard to find Tristan. He was sitting by the old oak tree next to the knight's graveyard, the very tree where I'd first gone to get away from Guinevere when she'd first asked me to stay to help in the battle. It felt like a lifetime ago. And now it felt like history was repeating itself. This time there was another decision to make, but this time I wouldn't be the one who had to choose. It was all up to Tristan, even if he didn't know it. My fate rested on his choices.

"Tristan?" I called out softly. His body was shadowed by the branches and I could only make out his profile in the gloom.

"Tristan, please. We need to talk."

There was a silence and then…

"Leave me alone."

The words came out in one long breath, as though it had cost him all of his energy to say three simple words. And they weren't the three words I had been hoping to hear.

"Tristan. I'm sorry. I know I should have said something earlier but I was scared. I didn't know my own feelings let alone your…"

"Leave. Me. Alone."

I swallowed. The words were cold and angry. Bitter. But I had to carry on somehow and make him understand.

"Tristan you have to listen to me. I know I made a mistake but…"

"GO!"

I flinched, stung by the hot anger in his voice. He'd never, ever spoken to me like that, not even when he'd found out about my brother, when he'd found out I was a Saxon, one of Woden's children. And for the first time I suddenly knew what it must be like to have to face him on the battlefield. All of that violent energy aimed towards you and there was nothing I could do but stand there and accept it as my own punishment.

"Please…" I whispered.

But he didn't move and all I could hear was the crash of waves against the rocks as the silence stretched out.

"Tristan…"

I sighed and swallowed round the lump in my throat.

"Goodnight."

The tavern was quiet when I got back in, and everyone looked up at me as I walked into the room from where they had been crowded round quietly talking. Their encouraging smiles faltered at the sight of my face.

"Oh Ymma…" murmured Guinevere, holding out her arms. "Come here."

"He doesn't love me and he's not going to forgive me and he hates me, oh…"

"Sssh," consoled Guinevere as she wrapped her arms around me and rocked me back and forth as I sobbed. "It'll be all right. He's just hurt at the moment and he's lashing out. Everything will be better in the morning, you'll see."

But it wasn't.

And things didn't improve the next day, or the day after that.

Tristan was avoiding me and when we did bump into each other on the odd occasion, or we had to be present in the same room it was as though I didn't exist. The others were all very kind and tried to fill the awkward silences but I knew that something had been irrevocably damaged between us. And I knew I had very probably lost Tristan. If I had ever had him.

Then the fourth day came. And the wind changed.

* * *

I had known saying goodbye would be hard, but I hadn't imagined that it would produce so many emotions. I had known I would be sad, but I also felt an overwhelming love for these people who I would be leaving for who knew how ever many years.

"Be a good boy, won't you?" I ruffled Lucan's hair as he clung onto one of my legs.

I gently prised him away and gave him a hug, before slipping a thick cord round his neck with a carefully carved, wooden looping rune pendent. Inside the swirl was a boars head and a round shield, on which were a trio of stars.

"What's this?" asked the little boy.

"It's specially made for you," I answered, bending down so that I was at eye level with him. "It will protect you so you must promise me that you will always keep it on. Promise?"

He nodded solemnly and reached up to cling onto Dagonet's fingers. I smiled. "Good boy." I turned to his adopted father.

"Try not to die," I muttered thickly as he hugged me hard.

"I'll do my best."

"Your best isn't good enough," I said and pressed a pebble sized, carved wooden rune into his hand. "In case you ever need me. Rub it and say my name."

He nodded seriously and I gave him a wobbly smile before Bors grabbed me in a gruff but meaningful hug. Before I had time to breathe he roughly passed me over to Vanora who thrust a rough cotton sack at me. "It's all salted so it'll keep and watch out for the pie in there, careful it doesn't get crushed or there'll be crumb and rabbit bits everywhere."

I nodded before carefully handing the sack to Alric who had been standing a little way off, allowing me some privacy to say my goodbyes.

"Food 'is her way of showin' love," explained Bors. Vanora promptly hit him before bursting into tears.

Galahad and Gawain embraced me together in an awkward but well meant hug and I laughed as we bumped heads.

"Thanks lads. I think that's going to bruise," I muttered as I rubbed my crown.

"Think of it as something to remember us by," they smirked.

"Aye, one big headache," quipped Bors.

I turned to Lancelot expecting him to do something dodgy, but his embrace was surprisingly firm and sincere. "Have a safe journey," he murmured. "May you have good winds and stick to the eastern current."

I nodded and kissed his cheek. "A mature Lancelot? Wonders will never cease."

He grinned darkly and then released me…but not before smacking my bum.

I shook my head. "I spoke to soon."

Finally there was just Arthur and Guinevere left.

"Just remember," I clasped his left arm with my own and then embraced him, before pulling back. "Be a good king, be a good friend and most importantly be a good husband." I smiled reassuringly at him. "So keep going as you are, and I think you'll be all right, Arthur, King of the Britons."

He returned the smile. "Thank you, Ymma, Lady of Magiks."

I laughed. "I'm not so sure about the lady part but the rest of it's pretty accurate."

I turned to Guinevere who was smiling sadly at me.

"Thank you, my friend. If we'd never met I dread to think what would have happened."

I shrugged off her gratitude. "Oh, you would have been fine. Arthur would have turned up sooner or later to rescue you. I was really just there for conversational purposes."

She smiled. "Ever modest." She hugged me hard and whispered in my ear. "He does love you, you know. But he's a fool. All men are."

My smile faltered as I pulled away. "Somehow, I think it's me who is the fool."

I faced everyone, and tried to ignore the fact that Tristan hadn't turned up. Nobody else had said anything but I knew that they were all thinking the same thing.

"Perhaps, you should wait a few moments…?" suggested Guinevere, but I shook my head.

"It's best if I just go now" I said, "otherwise you'll never get rid of me."

I turned to Alric. "Let's go home."

Waving a final goodbye I set off down the hill towards the beach, and the boat that would take me away, back to my homelands. The walk was silent, as I was lost in my thoughts. In fact, so lost, that I didn't notice the dark figure that was standing waiting on the beach until my brother grabbed my arm.

"Ymma, look!"

And there he was. Tristan. He was standing, gazing out at the boat and the sea, the endless expanse of water that would separate us.

"Will you..?"

Alric nodded. "I'll be on the ship. Just let me know when you're finished."

I smiled wryly. "Well it's not like you're going to leave without me."

"Don't tempt me."

I watched my brother walk away and then tired to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. At least this conversation couldn't be any worse than our last.

Tristan turned towards me as I approached.

"You really are going then," he said, but it was a statement of fact, a giant wall that I seemed to have constructed between us.

"Yes."

He reached for the cord around his neck where my sun pendant rested. "I should give you this back."

"No!" I said, surprising myself with my vehemence. "It was a gift and it will protect you as long as you wear it."

The silence stretched and we watched the boat bob gently on the water.

"What will you do now?" I asked quietly.

Tristan continued to gaze out at the sea. "The battle may be over for now, but there are more adventures to have."

_Without you_

"But then you already know this. We both are wanderers. We aren't good at being tied down."

The double meaning in his words hit hard and I nodded, feeling the wind whip through me, freezing the tears I didn't know I was shedding. He passed a thumb over my cheek, wiping away the moisture and I shivered.

"Why are you crying?" He gave me an unreadable look. "This is what you want after all."

I searched his face angrily. "What do you want Tristan? To always be a rock? To never show your feelings?"

For a moment he was still and then he whirled and seized my upper arms, pushing our faces close together, so close I could actually see the sudden fire that blazed in his eyes. All that anger and hurt and emotion that had had been coiled up inside him suddenly sprung free.

"I want you to stop making me love you. I want you to remain here with your friends, with me.I don't want you to go."

And then he shoved me away, and let out a long breath, becoming the man of ice I knew before my eyes again.

"But I don't want this. I don't want any of it ."

I stumbled, shocked by his revelation. "You love me? But…I…" I looked away, unable to endure the emotion that flashed across his face.

"Why would you let me go?" Suddenly my voice sounded very small.

"Because that is what you wish."

And for one perfect moment I understood everything. "Ask me to stay."

He stilled and between one moment and the next I knew he would never say it. The ache in my chest grew till it felt like my heart was stone, till it felt like I couldn't breath. All there was, was this moment, this heartache.

"Your brother is starting to miss you," he muttered.

"_Wes ðu hal _Tristan. _Gods þē mid sīe_," I said, softly, firmly. "Goodbye."

* * *

There was a hand on my shoulder and I turned towards the comforting face of my brother. "Are you all right?"

I nodded. "Some things have to be said to be felt." I glanced back at the retreating form of Tristan, stiff and unyielding, cold and aloof. Lonely. "I wasn't enough."

I turned back to my brother and embraced him, seeking something human, solid and warm.

"Are you sure? Is this what you want?"

"Yes," I replied, watching as even Tristan's footprints were gradually washed away, leaving only a fresh layer of sand.

"There's nothing left for me here."

* * *

And so I left. The boat slipped away under cover of mist, crossing over the sea as though we were ghosts leaving the land of living.

As if we had not really existed at all.

A fleeting memory.

It was all I would ever be to Tristan.

* * *

**Please read and review folks! Just a few moments of your time to press that blue button at the bottom and send me your thoughts. And as this story nears its end you won't have very many more opportunites to do so, so make the most of it : )**

Translations:

_**Lange libben Arthur cyning:** _Long Live King Arthur!

_**Awendan:** _Change

**_Gif ge onhweorfan eower ferð ic gewill ne beon hathear_:** If you have changed your mind I won't be angry

**_Ic gelust ne lang_:** I won't be long

**_Don ne beon __cuðlic_:** Don't be so certain

**_Wes ðu hal _Tristan. _Gods þē mid sīe:_** Farewell Tristan, May the Gods be with you

The boar's head was a sacred symbol of protection to the God Ingui. In Beowulf the soldiers wore boar crested helmets, and helmets found in Saxon graves also have the figure of the boar on them.


	12. The Call Of The Dragon

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters associated with King Arthur though I do own Aelfheah, Hilla, Alric, Dathan, Kaleb, Bruinen, and Ymma.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

**As always, all translations/information are provided at the bottom of the page.**

* * *

**Five Years Later...**

The magik had finally begun to kill me.

The magik that I had 'borrowed' to keep Dagonet alive had been allowed because it pleased the plan of the gods to keep all of their warriors alive to defeat the Saxons. They had traded power for freedom- I had stayed for the battle to keep the knights alive in return for being allowed to keep the magik that I'd practically stolen.

But not even magik bows to the will of the gods. A price must always be paid. Balance must be brought about. It was the fundamental rule that every child learning the rules of magik was taught. I had forgotten, to my own cost.

I had used magik that my body was not prepared to handle, magik far greater than I should have been able to use. And so, now, my body was finally paying the consequences.

It had started off as small tremors of amber magik skittering over my hands on the occasional morning. This had been easy to manage- I would find a small shaded patch of earth and channel the excess back into the ground, offering a small prayer to Nerthus, the earth mother.

But it had progressed to random power fluctuations. I would be doing an everyday task- helping my sister-in-law feed the goats or washing clothes in the brook- when the magik would flare brightly. It would curl itself around my body, streaming from the tips of my fingers and my hair. In the beginning it would die down after that, but as the episodes continued to happen the magik would persist in flowing around me. It would grow brighter and brighter, until I was cocooned in a swirling hurricane of magik that grew hotter and hotter, tightening around my chest. I would eventually black out.

I was normally unconscious for a few hours, awakening afterwards with nothing but singed hair and burns on my fingers to show for my troubles. These would generally fade after a few days. But the magik overloads happened more and more regularly, and the more frequently they occurred, the longer I would remain asleep. The last one that had happened had caused me to remain in a coma for a week and a half.

Which was why I found myself in the healer's house, sitting on the floor, watching Mildryth mutter to herself.

When I'd woken from the latest incident, my brother's wife, Livia, had been walking through the hut door with a bundle of firewood and a command from the village wise woman to visit her.

It wasn't unexpected but it was slightly intimidating. In all the years of living in the village I'd only seen Mildryth when she presided over the village festivals as priestess, organising the sacrifices in Geola and at Modranect, and decked out in all of her finery, her face painted with swirling dyes and the juices of the sacred Mugwort plant. She was a distant figure, who was half feared and half revered by the villagers, who regarded her hut on the edge of the village on top of a scrubby hill, as a forbidden area. They said she lived more amongst the other worlds than she did on our own Midgarðr.

And so dutifully, I'd summoned up the energy to visit her, which was why I was sat on a pile of animal furs, watching as she mumbled words over the dying fire. The embers glowed a dull red as they cooled and suddenly she peered at me through her long, straggly, grey hair, one eye blind and filmy white, the other a startling blue.

"_Woden hieran me nu_!" She grasped her runes from her pocket, her long fingernails tapping against the bone and then she threw them high into the air. She left her seated position on a dark wolf pelt and began to rummage in the back of her hut, in amongst a deep old wooden chest, scored with hundreds of runic markings.

"Read them. What do they say?"

I peered over the runes, watching how they'd fallen, seeing the flow of the wyrd as it worked. I somehow managed to hide my shock – Mildryth had thrown all twenty four of her runes into the air, and yet only seven lay on the furs in front of me. The others had literally vanished into thin air.

"Os is the first," I said, my hand moving over the runes that had fallen into a perfect horizontal line.

"Divine enlightenment," murmured Mildryth, her back still turned to me. "Well, that is what we asked for, so let us pray that we get it."

I nodded though she couldn't see and considered the next runes. "Ur and Wynn and they're touching each other." I felt like a child again with Dathan, trying to prove I could do a reading on my own, that I had mastered all of the meanings. "So obviously my life and my happiness are clearly linked. But Raed is overlapping Wynn so my happiness relies on a journey."

Mildryth was now almost bent double over her box and I couldn't see her head or shoulders. I was apparently talking to myself. I carried on a little more relaxed.

"Lagu and Mann, Mann's on top of Lagu so rapid change for good or bad is in direct relationship with my mortality." I frowned. "Oh fantastic, this is really reassuring."

I turned to the last rune. "Eolh-secg."

"Could indicate safety's coming or contact with the divine," said Mildryth returning from the depths of her chest. She had been listening after all. "Or perhaps that divine protection is coming." The old woman hummed between her lips. "Tricky times ahead," she muttered and finally shut the box.

She was clutching a small pouch in her hand and she tipped it onto the embers of the fire. There was a brilliant flash of blue flame and then it was gone, though now the embers were glowing white hot. Mildryth sank slowly to the floor in her original position and swept the runes to one side. Reaching into her pocket she withdrew the rest of the runes that she had originally cast into the air and threw them onto the skin.

And as I watched even as she threw the other seventeen runes to the ground only one actually fell to the floor. The others were gone, and from the bulge in her pocket I knew where they had re-appeared.

"Your dominant rune is Peorþ." She watched me shrewdly. "How unusual."

I had tensed. Peorþ was the rune of the unknown or in some small cases one of a stroke of luck. I prayed that the later reading was what would be governing my journey. The unknown, figuring largely in my imminent future was extremely unnerving. It was rather cruel of the runes and Woden- they knew what was coming, after all they spelt out fate, and so to not inform me was just another reminder that we were all pawns really. I had no choice.

She peered at me and sucked her teeth. "The gods tell us what they wish."

"But you can tell me more," I pressed.

The priestess smiled crookedly at me. She could read the Wyrd like no other, having traded the sight in her right eye for greater abilities, and if I wanted answers there was no-one better than she to give me them. She knew all about the price of magik.

Mildryth's clear blue eye stared at me, even as the white in her blind one clouded over thicker, like the oncoming of snow. "You must wait for a sign. When it comes you must follow it until it stops. Where the journey ends, there will you find the key to your health and your happiness." She frowned, raking her fingernails through the furs, and she grabbed my hand, and traced the life line in it. "There is a time limit. You have less than half a year to find some way to calm the magik before it destroys you. Before the celebration of the midsummer solstice."

Mildryth's fingers dropped mine and she pressed her hand into the white hot ashes, her fingers scrabbling around in the embers. She dug out a gold nugget the size of my palm and motioned for me to take it. I gingerly reached out and took it from her, noting that her fingers weren't scorched but as unblemished as they had been before she touched the fire. The nugget was cool to the touch and hummed in my hand.

"The sign requires a gift," said Mildryth.

"Then you know what the sign is," I said, turning the nugget over in my hands.

Suddenly, there was a great roar from outside. I scrambled to my feet, racing to the entrance of the hut. A large shadow passed overhead, blocking the evening sunlight that was still spilling down from the sky. I peered upwards, my eyes squinting, making out long wings beating lazily, the outline of a sleek body. A long snout occasionally snorted tendrils of smoke into the sky. I watched, vaguely registering the trembling of my body, until it finally disappeared into the cluster of hills to the south of the village.

"_Halig__scitan_," I said softly. "A real dragon." I turned back to Mildryth who had joined me at the door.

"And now you know too."

I scowled, the reality of what I was being asked to do sinking in. "My sign is a dragon? I'm meant to track it and-" I felt the nugget in my hand still, "give it this?"

She nodded and smiled. "Good luck."

"Wait-" I said. "How is a dragon going to help me? And more importantly how am I not going to get eaten alive?"

But Mildryth had already turned into her hut and when I glanced inside she had vanished completely, leaving only the smoking fire in the middle, surrounded by her wolf pelts.

The interview was over.

* * *

When I got back to the village everyone was carrying about their normal business. From the lack of weaponry being gathered together and warriors being amassed, I guessed that only I had seen the dragon. I knew very little about them, except that they were magikally very powerful, so perhaps it had someway of shielding itself from human eyes. I tried to ignore the nasty little voice in my head that said that only Mildryth and I could see it. That perhaps it was imaginary.

Alric was waiting for me when I finally reached home, and my face must have made plain my mood, because he gave me a hug.

"Was it bad news?"

I pulled out of his embrace and tugged him to come and sit with me on our old spot on top of the hill, overlooking the nearby woods. It had been a favourite place when we were children.

"I'm supposed to follow a dragon," I said, and related to him what had happened in Mildryth's house.

"When will you be leaving then?"

I glanced back down to the grass. "As soon as possible- tomorrow if I can. The dragon already has a good head start on me and it seems to be heading for the sea. I can't afford to lose it."

My brother sighed. "I didn't think I would have to say goodbye so soon, but if it is the will of the gods…" He trailed off and we sat in comfortable silence.

"Five years is a long time." Said Alric after a while. "You might find that things have changed."

I remained silent. If he wanted to continue down this line he was going to have to go alone.

My brother smiled at my obvious discomfort with the subject. "I know you've turned down every offer of marriage you've had." I met his eyes, my shock obvious. Alric grinned. "Men do talk you know. And a disappointed man needs someone to confide in."

I blushed; embarrassed at having my brother know I'd turned down two eligible offers because every time I looked at a man, all I saw was a pair of dark eyes staring back at me, eyes as sharp and quick as a hawk.

I stared out fiercely at the forest. I was unwilling to travel down that path again. Alric's warm hand rested for a moment on my shoulder.

"Ymma you'll always have your family. We'll always be here."

"I'll come back," I promised.

Alric smiled gently. "I know."

Livia's voice rang out from the house, calling us in for dinner.

"Ah, the other dragon," I murmured.

My brother laughed and helped me up. "Come, tonight is a night for celebration. We have hope for your cure, and in the morning I will find you the best horse in the village for your safe passage."

* * *

The next morning saw me packing my few possessions that I would be taking with me. My runes were the first to go in along with spare clothing, my traps and a bar of soap. Livia had prepared a whole sack of food, and I made sure I had enough money for passage across the sea. I was also taking presents from my nieces and nephews that I'd been given on my life day, mostly jewellery and trinkets for my hair. There was also a stone jar of ointment for my feet and a new pair of shoes, in case something happened to my own boots. My daggers were strapped to me, and this time I couldn't take my staff with me, so I had attached a full quiver of arrows and a bow to my horse.

Alric had found me Alsviðr, a strong stallion for the journey, who was a dark chestnut colour with a steady (if proud) temperament and a fast foot. I would also be taking my hunting dogs with me, though Bruinen would not be coming with me.

We had buried him last spring. He'd been fighting with a bear that had intruded into the village and though the bear had eventually been driven out, Bruinen had died from his injuries. I'd never missed a companion more and Kaleb had whined for several days, refusing to leave the place where his brother had been buried. He still pined for his companion and I had been tempted to leave him in the village- he was no longer the young dog he had once been- but at the sight of me saddling a horse he had refused to leave my side. Whilst I'd been in the village my dogs had managed to father several litters of puppies and I was taking with me the eldest of two of the litters. Fenrir had inherited his mother's dark colouring and wolf like appearance, but Bruinen's temperament. His sister, on the other hand, Gyda was as fierce as her brother was gentle. She was the colour of ash and though she was smaller than either Kaleb or Fenrir her bite was just as painful, and she was quicker on her feet.

Alric had laughed when he saw the hounds trailing after me. "If you take anymore you'll have a whole pack."

"Well, Kaleb wouldn't leave me and I've trained the other two since they were pups. Now's the time to see if all that hard work was worth it."

He slung another bag of provisions onto Alsviðr, who snorted and tossed his head. I raised an eyebrow.

"You better not be like that the whole journey, otherwise Gyda will give you a nasty nip." The horse eyed the bitch who had her teeth bared and then fell quiet. "That's better."

I hugged my brother in farewell, the last person in my family who I had to say goodbye too. "Keep safe, try not to get yourself killed and come back to me one day."

I nodded and attempted not to cry too much. I failed miserably. "I will. _Behatan me_."

The whole village had turned out to see me go, and as Alsviðr took me away I spotted Mildryth waving from her house on the hill. I lifted my hand in farewell, but the faces I last saw were my family's, as my niece and nephews ran after me, waving and shouting goodbye's until they reached the tribal boundary line.

And then I descended into the forest and I saw them no more.

* * *

It had taken me over a month to finally reach the sea.

The dragon hadn't seemed in any rush to fly anywhere and I had been able to camp overnight most days. In the morning, I would be able to spot it circling in the distance, always a dark dot threading through the sky gracefully. I hadn't been able to see it up close in detail, but as the sun glinted on it I had been able to spy large scales that shone like pearl, but were the colour of wet seaweed. Its long wings were darker and the tips were completely black so that it's outline against a stormy sky was smudged so that one couldn't tell where dragon ended and sky began.

And so I here I was, finally sat on a boat back to Britannia. I was sharing my passage with a group of merchant travellers and a Roman lawyer, Marcus Valerius Euandros and his son.

I liked to spend the nights on my back on deck, looking up at the stars and I often found myself being joined by Marcus. It was pleasant company, and we would often exchange stories of our travels. There wasn't much else to do on the boat but talk, and it staved off the boredom.

"Wandering from place to place?" remarked Marcus one night, as we contemplated the heavens. I'd just finished relating to him my departure five years ago. "It sounds rather lonely."

A memory of warm brown eyes and of a hand holding mine suddenly came upon me but I blinked and it was gone. I smiled a little sadly. "Yes," I said. "It is."

Suddenly he pointed. "Look, a dragon!"

"Where?"

He laughed at my sudden astonishment and pointed to the stars. "The constellation. Did you think I meant a real one?"

I laughed weakly, though I couldn't quell my disappointment that still no-one else had seen my dragon.

"What's this about dragons Father?" Marcus' seven year old son had wandered onto deck and was rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"You should be asleep George," said Marcus, even as the boy settled into his father's lap.

"I couldn't sleep," George complained. "I felt sick again."

I clucked my tongue in sympathy and thought of something to distract him with. "Would you like me to tell you a story?" George nodded and settled further into his father's embrace. Kaleb came and curled up at his feet. I cast my eyes around me for inspiration. "What do you want a story about?"

"Dragons," said the boy decidedly, obviously still thinking about what his father and I had been talking about earlier. George continued eagerly. "And can I be in it?"

I nodded, happy to please. "Alright." My mind ticked over as a story began to form in my mind and I settled down in front of an eager audience.

"Once upon a time, there was a knight named George and a dragon…"

* * *

We made land the next day and I parted from my new friends, with the promise to visit them in the capital as soon as I could. But my mind wasn't really on them as we parted. I had bigger problems.

Such as the disappearance of the dragon.

It had been there the night before but as we'd reached the coast it had disappeared over the cliffs and was now nowhere in sight. I had no idea in which direction to go and I was getting more and more frustrated. Deciding to head for a familiar village I headed in the direction that would lead me back to where hopefully Guinevere and Arthur still lived. It had been five years but hopefully they would not have moved very far. Even if they had surely someone would know where they had gone. If I had lost the dragon and my only hope for a cure, I might as well find a friendly face.

It only took me a couple of days before I found myself in familiar surroundings. There was Vanora's inn, there the houses of the knights, and there, strolling round the village towards me, was a heavily pregnant Guinevere.

She hadn't spotted me yet, but I couldn't stop myself from calling out her name. She turned in my direction and her face went white, as though she'd seen a ghost. And then her mouth split into a wide grin.

"Ymma!" I tethered Alsviðr, and then ran to meet her, the hounds racing excitedly after me. "I can't believe you're here!" She exclaimed after she'd let me go from her enthusiastic embrace.

"I can't believe it either," I beamed. "And look at you! You're practically glowing!"

Guinevere rolled her eyes. "I look like a beached whale, but everyone's too polite to say anything."

"And what number is this?"

She swatted me playfully. "This is baby number two. I had a little girl, Fritha, and she's just coming three this spring." She pointed back up the hill. "Vanora's taken her with her brood to visit her sister in the next town."

I smiled. "Where's Arthur? And the other knights for that matter?"

"Sorting out a troll attack in the western regions of the country."

I blinked. "You still have trolls? We drove ours out decades ago."

Guinevere rolled her eyes. "Only you could take the news so easily. You should have seen Arthur's face when the messenger came to ask for help. He thought Galahad was setting him up."

"Nope," I said. "We take trolls very seriously. They're big, nasty things, who enjoyed eating our livestock and then moved onto our children. My people had a hell of a time trying to kill them, as they're impervious to magik. In the end they had to stick to good old fashioned violence."

"Not all the knights went though," said Guinevere slyly. "Tristan wasn't with them."

"Oh?" I said feigning nonchalance.

"Yes, he left a few weeks after you did, going back to Sarmatia. We haven't heard or seen him since."

I opened my mouth to reply when Guinevere's grip on my arm tightened so much it became physically painful. She glanced down at the ground between her feet, which was now wet and then back up to me.

"I've gone into labour."

I blinked at Guinevere's statement and then panic set in. "What?"

"The baby wants to be born," she repeated calmly.

"And you couldn't do it at a more convenient time?" I asked, incredulously. "Possibly when Vanora's here and she can help you?" I gripped my hair. "When are you even due?"

She glared at me as she gripped her belly. "About now, and I can't exactly choose when the baby's going to be born."

"It's your baby- tell it to wait."

"_I_ _can't_." She hissed through her teeth. "It's coming now."

"Perfect." I retorted petulantly. "This is just like you."

"What? You think I did this deliberately?"

"The thought had crossed my mind." I fidgeted from side to side as Guinevere began to moan through a set of crippling birthing pains. "What can I do?"

The woad woman hissed out a breath as she looked up at me. "Take me home and then find hot water and towels. Lots of towels."

"Okay, that I can do." I helped her walk back to the house, which fortunately was barely a two minute walk. I helped her lie on the bed covers and then hunted round the room, before finally finding a drawer full of material.

"Here." I dunked a swatch in a bucket of cold water and wiped her brow. "Dathan never taught me this one. Probably because he was a man."

Guinevere rolled her eyes at my irate muttering. "You mean he didn't think you'd need to ever know this?"

I scowled. "He taught me how to kill a rabbit. I'm a dab hand at setting a trap. But delivering a baby was surprisingly not on my Top 10 things I needed to know to survive list."

"Well you'd better start learning."

* * *

Hours later and Guinevere was screaming as the baby finally decided to make it's appearance into the world. I had my hands in places I never wanted them to be, helping the baby ease it's way out and I was splattered in blood. Guinevere was panting as she pushed again, sweat dripping from her forehead.

"You know this really is disgusting. I think I preferred battle."

Guinevere sent me a look of death and began to sing sweetly. "That's not helping Ymma. Perhaps you'd like to be in my place?"

I mopped her brow with one of the soaked rags. "Oh, no, I'm fine. You just keep on…pushing." I waited for Guinevere to breathe through the contractions. "I'm just never going to let another man touch me."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" My saccharine tone failed to impress.

Guinevere growled. "And you think I'm enjoying this?"

"No, but you get a beautiful baby out of this. I just get mentally scarred."

Any further retort was lost as with one final push the baby eased itself out and began to cry loudly. Very loudly. I wrapped it in a towel, bathing it's face in warm water, ridding it of the gooey mass of blood and water it had been covered in, making cooing noises as I went.

"What sex is it?" Asked Guinevere eagerly, even as she pushed herself tiredly up the bed to rest more easily against the cushions.

I smiled and handed her the child. "Congratulations, Guin," I grinned. "You have a very healthy little boy."

She beamed up at me as I began to strip the sheets away and gather all of the dirty cloths in one pile to be washed as soon as possible.

"For such a tiny person it doesn't half create a lot of mess," I grumbled good naturedly.

Guinevere laughed as she rocked her infant son who was still crying nestled against his mother's chest. "Did you hear that Artorius? You're Godmother thinks you're very messy. Yes she does," she cooed.

I froze at her words. "_Godmother_? Now hang on a minute, Guin, I-"

There was the sound of something large and heavy landing on the ground outside. The villagers started screaming.

I gave a long suffering grimace. "Fantastic. What wonderful timing." I glanced down at my blood spattered clothes. "I might as well have just chained myself up in the village square with a sign saying 'sacrifice' above my head."

Guinevere was staring at me with frightened eyes, clutching her child closer to her. "Ymma, what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing for you to worry about," I said gently, as I opened the door and began to step outside. "The dragon's arrived. Just carry on with what you were doing." I smiled at Guinevere's nonplussed expression.

"I just need to have a word. Won't be a minute."

* * *

**So that's it, for the next instalment. Please leave a review letting me know what you thought as they really do make my day! Hope you all had a lovely Christmas and I promise to update sooner- it's going to be my New Year's resolution!**

**Woden hieran me nu!: **Woden, hear me now!

**Halig ****scitan!:**Holy shit!

**Behatan me:** I promise.

**Nerthus:** The earth mother, who was responsible for the fertility of the earth and all that lives and grows on it. She survives to this day in the shape of the Harvest Queen.

**Mildryth: **Means gentle strength.

**Alsviðr****: **Means very quick. In mythology he was one of the horses that drew the sun's chariot across the sky each day.

**Fenrir:** Means From the swamp, or fen dweller. In mythology Fenrir was foretold to kill Woden during the events of Ragnarök, but will in turn be killed by Odin's son Víðarr.

**Gyda:** Meaning strife, or war.

**Fritha:** Peace

**Geola: **Midwinter solstice. It survives as the modern Yule.

**Modranect:** Also known as Mothers' Night. It was the most important festival, on the midwinter solstice. It may have been associated with the birth of the god Ing.

**Mugwort:** Anglo-Saxon tribes believed that the aromatic mugwort was one of the nine sacred herbs given to the world by the god Woden.

**Midgarðr: **The realm of Man. The centre of the Nine Worlds. It is surrounded by a vast ocean and about it lays a wall built by the gods to protect it. Several variants of the name survive, amongst them Middenerd and Tolkien's Middle-Earth.

**Dragons** were a symbolic image amongst the Anglo-Saxons. The most famous dragons in Germanic mythology are: Nidhoggr, and Jörmungandr the giant sea serpent which surrounds Miðgarð the world of mortal men; the dragon encountered by Beowulf; lindworms- monstrous serpents of Germanic myth and lore, often interchangeable with dragons and the dragon slayed by legendary hero Siegfried from the German medieval epic poem Nibelungenlied.

I thought I'd make up my own version of how George adn the Dragon came about- it seemed like an interesting thing to do at the time.

**Trolls **were acknowledged by the Anglo-Saxons as well as elves and giants, at least according to Channel 4's Time Team website. So I thought, why not add them into the mix. Give Arthur something to really have a good fight against. lol. We may as well, if we have magik and gods it's not really much of a stretch to have dragons and trolls in as well!

**Os** can mean divine inspiration or enlightenment. In magic workings it can be used to draw up magic energy or to receive enlightenment on some issue.

**Ur** represents the vitality of the life force or mæen. In divination it usually represents strength will be called for or fierceness and the courage to use these qualities. In magic it can be used to bring about strength and physical health.

**Wynn** is the rune of peace. In divination, it can mean a period of joy or that happiness will be needed. In magic, it can be used to achieve joy and happiness. Wynn is the rune of wishes come true, of dreams fulfilled, of togetherness and love. Wynn governs the harmony of humans.

**Ræd** means a journey that should be or has been taken. In magic, it can be used to send one on a journey. It can also represent the hard journey, the difficult road to travel in life.

**Lagu** can indicate rapid change good or bad. In spell work Lagu can be used to promote growth and healing, but one must be careful to control these processes. A safer rune to use for such things is Beorc.

**Mann** can mean many things, but it usually indicates to beware of betrayal, to watch ones self and others. In spell work, it can be used to reinforce one's own mortality.

**Eolh-secg** may indicate a period of safety and security or a time when safety and security is called for, it could indicate contact with the divine or that divine protection is coming. In spell work its primary use is related to defensive spells and warding. Its defence being passive, while Thorn's is more aggressive.

**Peorþ** may mean a stroke of luck or indicate the unknown. It is rarely used in spell work, but may be used to bring about the outcome of one's wyrd.


	13. A Cure For Death

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the film King Arthur and it's characters, but I do own all other original characters created for the purpose of this story.

**Pairing:** Ymma/Tristan, Guinevere/Arthur

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

It was at times like this, staring at a dragon with ivory teeth the size of grown men that I realised just how bizarre life was becoming. Not to mention dangerous.

The dragon was possibly the largest thing I'd ever set eyes on, dwarfing the tallest trees in the forest nearby, it's tail resting on the stone wall encircling the village and Fort, the tip twitching in agitation.

The villagers had fortunately run for cover, huddling in their huts, none of them stupid enough to take on something of this size, particularly without the presence of the knights. At least this meant that none of the villagers would become dragon food if they decided to foolishly attack the beast.

On the downside, this meant that I was the sole focus of the dragon's attention as I walked out into the deserted village ground. It's large, golden eyes watched me with something akin to boredom, and I had the vague sense that the dragon knew it was vastly superior to me and was so unworried about what I, a pathetic mortal could do to it, that it was merely humouring me.

It was a little unnerving to say the least.

I stopped a good twenty metres from its snout, unwilling to get any closer to something that could eat a ship full of Roman soldiers and use the mast as a toothpick. I sketched a low bow but then remained standing, unwilling to act too submissively in case the dragon thought I was the villagers' choice of sacrifice, and decided to skip the formalities and go straight to chewing on my bones.

And then I waited. Unsure exactly how to speak to a dragon, or in fact how it was supposed to help me in my quest for a cure I stood, gazing at the ground, waiting for it to make the first move.

The dragon snorted out a huge puff of smoke and I glanced up.

"**Well?**"

I clamped my hands over my ears as a deep, gravelly voice rumbled around inside my mind.

"**Where is my tribute mortal? If you do not have it then I shall simply take it from your flesh instead.**"

By this point I'd sunk to my knees. The voice was simply so deafening, like a cascade of rocks tumbling down a mountain and I was at the bottom, helpless to save myself.

The word tribute echoed in my mind, and triggered off my memory- the golden palm sized nugget that Mildryth had given me flashed across my vision, the healer's words ringing in my ears _the sign requires a gift- the sign requires a gift-the sign requires a-_

"I have your tribute," I spoke out loud, my voice firm despite the fact that my body was trembling badly. "I have to go and fetch it though from the house." I motioned with a hand to the house that held my bag with the nugget in it, Guinevere and the newborn Artorius. I hoped she hadn't tried to get out of bed to find out what was happening.

The dragon snorted, great clouds of smoke rising from it's nostrils. "**Go then mortal, but if you do not return quickly, I will burn down your village and roast your friends over their homes."**

I bit down on my tongue to stop me making a scathingly rude retort, fear for the safety of the villagers for once restraining me from saying something I would regret. I scrambled to my feet and darted into the hut. I ran to my bag, fingers fumbling with the ties, pushing the dogs out of the way as they pawed at me, trying to get me to acknowledge them and take them with me. There was no way that was happening though. Gyda, Fenrir and Kaleb would have no qualms about taking on a dragon, but as the beast could easily swallow all three whole in one go, they were staying put with Guinevere and the baby.

"Ymma, what's going on?" My friend's voice was strained, a mixture of tiredness and worry as she peered at me from the bed, clutching Artorius to her. I replied absently as my fingers closed around the nugget, wrapped securely in cloth at the bottom of the bag.

"_Láðwende draca emeri_-"

"That's Saxon, I don't understand!"

"_Scitan_." I forced myself to think through the haze of panic and switched tongues. "I've got to go appease the dragon outside who's really, really grumpy, in a sort of willing to commit mass slaughter way. So I've got to go and give it this." I peeled off the cloths and showed her the gleam of gold in my hand. "Hopefully it will be slightly less homicidal, and more inclined to grant favours."

This last bit was said more to myself than to Guinevere, though the Woad woman still appeared confused. I couldn't really blame her, but I had no time to give a better explanation.

"Stay," I said firmly to the dogs who whined but then sat down by the side of the birthing bed and looked at me disconsolately. I hurried back outside the house, shutting the door firmly behind me.

"I have your tribute!" I called out, mindful of the large claws that was idly drawing huge gouges into the earth.

The dragon's eyes gleamed darkly and focussed on the nugget in my hand. It's snout opened, the inside of it's mouth like a dark cavern within, the large curved teeth guarding the entrance. Some instinct kicked in and I threw the nugget as hard as I could.

As soon as it hit the huge, quivering rock coloured tongue it dissolved with a hiss, releasing the strong stench of hot metal and the copper tang of blood, setting my teeth on edge, as though someone had put a knife along the flat of my own tongue and then filed my teeth with it, scraping the bone. The dragon's jaw clicked shut and it gazed at me, satisfied. Whatever it was that Mildryth had given me had apparently worked.

"**You may have what it is you seek**," the dragon growled in my head and I bit my lip to force myself from crying out at the pain ringing in my ears.

The dragon blinked, one lazy eyelid slipping shut and a single oily tear was squeezed from his eye to roll down the large craggy face, running over the beautiful seaweed coloured scales. It hung for a moment at the bottom of it's jaw before falling into one of the deep gouges the dragon had made, filling it half way, so that I would have to fetch several buckets to retrieve all of the tear.

Without warning the dragon unfurled its wings, blotting out the sun as it took off, whipping up dirt and leaves into a whirlwind. I sank to my knees, hands still clutched to my ears, my lips and eyes clamped shut to avoid swallowing any flying dirt.

When the dust finally settled the dragon was a small figure in the distance, heading upwards towards the Wall where the mountains scrawled across the landscape, providing excellent breeding grounds for the beast.

Slowly the villagers began to emerge from their hiding places and I took my hands away from my ears. They were stained red with blood and fluid was leaking from my ears. I winced at the aching in my head and got up from my kneeling position, helped by a greying man I recognised from years ago who had always been kind to me. I waved away his greeting and his questions, pausing only to ask him to rope a few of the villagers into fetching buckets to collect all of the water that was in one of the gouges left by the dragon. Understandably confused the man reluctantly agreed and I left him, promising explanations on my return from the woods. I needed to find a Woad. Specifically one in particular.

Heading into the darkness of the woods, the summer light unable to filter through the thick mass of leaves above me, I went in as far as I dared and called out.

"Merlin?"

There was silence. A cuckoo began to call in the distance, and the leaves rustled in a small swirl of breeze. I shivered in the dense green gloom of the forest and called again.

"Merlin!"

A twig snapped behind me and I whirled, hands drawn upwards to protect myself. A lanky young man stood glaring at me, his messy dark blonde hair curling into his eyes, his bare chest covered in swirling blue tattoos. One hand gripped a spear, with a relaxed confidence that spoke of being able to use it well. He stepped towards me suddenly, his face changing into one of surprise and delight.

"Ymma? It is you isn't it?"

I frowned at the man. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He laughed softly. "Have I really changed that much? I suppose it has been many years since we last saw each other. And I was covered in paste and blood most of the time..."

Recognition hit me like a slap across the face.

"Kay!" I grinned broadly and gave into the impulse to hug him. I drew back and blushed. "I apologise for not knowing you earlier- you've changed though. I hardly recognise you."

"It's been what, five years? Am I really so different?" he said pleasantly. "You're still the same as ever, you haven't altered a bit."

"Hmm," I hesitated, "except in one minor detail. And that's why I'm here. I need Merlin's help. You haven't seen him have you?"

Kay nodded, though his expression was rapidly changing to one of concern. "He's just gone to fetch some silver fir. He set off this morning so he'll be back sooner or later. What's wrong?" He suddenly caught sight of the blood staining my ears and gave me a fierce look. "What have you been doing?"

He grabbed one of my bloodstained hands and tugged me further into the darkness of the forest, so that I was soon almost jogging to keep up with his pace. It was a good thing he'd taken my hand as he was now practically dragging me along as I tripped over exposed roots and stumbled past overgrown bushes.

Eventually we reached an encampment of huts in a forest clearing, though the area was empty of people.

"They're out hunting," he explained shortly. He led me inside and made me stand by the light of the fire burning in the middle, the smoke wafting up to escape through the roof. Something was burning other than just the wood though, as the air had a sweet smell to it, and I detected the faint scent of liquorice leaves. Kay meanwhile was gently touching my ears, and peering down them.

"When did your ears start bleeding?"

"About ten, fifteen minutes ago. That's why I came to the forest."

"Anything that could have caused it? A loud noise, or a blow to the head for instance. A sudden change of pressure? Have you been having very bad headaches recently?"

I shrugged. "I'd say a dragon talking in my head counts as a loud noise."

Kay pulled back, astonishment swimming across his face. "A dragon?"

"Ask anyone in the village, it'll be gossip fodder for months."

"Fine." I couldn't help a smile at his easy acceptance of my explanation, incredible though it must have seemed. He was in full healer mode though and his initial friendliness had dissipated, leaving him in the mood for telling off his patient.

"You've probably perforated your eardrums then, you silly woman." He folded his eyes and he looked so stern and medical that I couldn't help but picture him in a decade or so, sporting a long beard and a staff. He carried on regardless of my quiet amusement at sketching his future transformation into Merlin.

"Why didn't you cast a rune spell for protection? You're not normally so cavalier about your health. And what were you doing talking to a dragon in the first place. What's going on?"

I opened my mouth to deny anything was happening, smarting at being lectured on my own health and use of magik. Instead the whole story came tumbling out. I had always been comfortable around Kay, and it was a relief to tell someone else exactly what was going on.

"...and so my magik started shorting out on me, and I ended up in longer and longer comas. So Mildryth consulted the runes and I was told to follow the dragon. And now I have buckets and buckets of tear with no idea what to do with it. Dathan never mentioned anything about dragons except to steer clear of them, because they're so temperamental."

Kay finished dropping distilled echinacea into a vial and gently wiped the outside of my ear with a cloth dampened with it.

"That'll heal by itself, but it will take about two months before it's back to normal. You'll probably have a bit of a hearing impairment till then, you probably won't be able to hear high pitched noises mainly, but if you're good at reading lips you'll have no trouble."

"Speaking of impairment, did you hear anything of what I just said?"

He dropped a hand on my shoulder. "You have less than five months before you end up in a coma you won't wake up from, and you don't know what to do with the dragon tear you have."

I raised an eyebrow, impressed. "A man who can multitask. You're one of a kind."

The Woad flashed me a smile. "Indeed. Come, let's go and see these buckets."

We made our way slowly back to the village where the old man had done as I had said and now stood watching several of the younger villagers draw the dragon's tear up out of a hastily constructed well. I was just about to thank him when I spotted Guinevere striding purposefully towards us.

"Why are you out of bed? Get back in there now!" I illustrated my point by trying to usher her back the way she had come, but the stubborn woman refused to budge and rocked Artorius in her arms.

"Ymma, what is going on?"

I contemplated giving her a convincing lie, but then the last time I'd kept secrets my brother had almost been executed. Perhaps it was best to just come clean about my illness and put up with the fuss Guinevere would make, instead of lying and creating more problems.

"I think you'd better sit down. Come on."

* * *

"So any bright ideas on how this is going to help me?"

I gazed at the buckets and buckets of thick, gloopy dragon's tear, the consistency of honey and the colour of watery milk. I'd expected it to be like water and instead it was more like sludge.

"You don't know?"

"I just do what I'm told," I said defensively. "I was told to go follow a sign. Give the sign a gift. The gift will give you a cure. Mildryth wasn't really more specific than that. But hey, next time I'm dying I'll make sure to ask for more details." I sighed. "Sorry."

Kay shrugged. "You're frustrated, that's understandable."

"Merlin might know, he's versed in all the healing arts, and we've had dragons in these lands for centuries," said Guinevere emerging from the hut where Artorius now lay sleeping in his cradle. "If anyone can tell you what to do with this, it'll be him."

I'd been amazed at how well the woad had taken the news that I was headed for the next world unless I figured out how to use the dragon's gift. But then of course I had forgotten that she was also a seasoned warrior and knew how to guard her emotions. She wasn't a woman prone to bouts of hysteria or emotional outbursts, and her calm acceptance and determination to find the cure had been refreshing.

"Right, let's go find him."

Leaving the care of the baby in the capable hands of a neighbour Guinevere led the way and I followed with Kay heading deep into the forest. I had expected us to follow the hurried route Kay had dragged me along to the village but instead we veered off to the west and closer to the cliffs that the forest bordered. The tang of the sea hit the back of my throat and as we emerged out of the forest gloom and into daylight I spotted the old woad near the edge, his arms raised to the sky, yelling at the waves below him. I cast a glance at my companions but neither of them seemed to think this odd as we stopped a few metres from him.

"What's he doing?" I hissed.

"Entreating the Mother Goddess. He does it every year."

As she finished speaking Merlin ended his shouting and lowering his arms he turned smiling and walked towards us. His hands were covered in blood. He clapped an arm around Kay's shoulders who didn't seem to mind as the older man left a bloody handprint on his skin.

"Another year of good will I hope lad, and perhaps the goddess won't be as tricky as she was last year. We don't need a repeat of Ileigh so I doubled the amount of blood used and seasoned it liberally with more yew and a dash of willow."

Kay raised a brow. "Yew? Is that wise?"

"Fight death with death lad, and the willow will appease her…" I tuned out of the conversation as Merlin began to lead us back to the forest. I didn't need to know about foreign magikal practices- I had enough trouble remembering my own spells and runic knowledge without overhearing about the properties of trees in order to appease gods I didn't believe in. But one thing Merlin had said intrigued me.

"What did he mean by 'we don't need a repeat of Ileigh'? That's that little village near the coast about 50 miles form here isn't?"

"It was," said Guinevere, her expression clouded as we trailed after the men. "Last year we had an exceptional amount of rain. It was really bad that winter. There was a mud slide and the village was swept into the sea. No-one survived."

My eyes widened. "By Loki, that's awful!"

"It's no wonder Merlin's doubling his efforts. Between you and me I doubt it'll do any good, the Mother is the most fickle of all our gods and she isn't likely to be appeased by a bit of horse blood and some plants."

I knew where this was leading. "You think if it doesn't work they'll go back to human sacrifice?"

"Without a doubt. It's only a matter of time now the soldiers have gone. Arthur can't be everywhere either and his Christian beliefs hold no sway over the people here. If they don't start seeing results soon we'll go back to the old ways." The look she shot me was dark. "I don't agree with it of course, but if it works…"

"Mmm." I kept my thoughts to myself.

My own gods clearly had no problem sacrificing their own people to appease their anger and jealousy as I had witnessed by Arthur slaughtering the Saxon army. They were grasping and self interested and tricky. I had no doubt that they would love the re-introduction of human sacrifice and if the woads began their old practices again it was certain that my own gods would start demanding more than a few incantations and the burning of mugwort. I'd never seen a sacrifice involving a human before but my old _mæstfæder _had told us tales when we were tiny children about seeing a man strangled, beaten about the head with an axe, and his throat slit before being buried in the nearby sacred bogs. _Modor_ had not been best pleased when she had found out what he'd been telling us.

"Ymma?" I managed a small smile as Kay snapped me out of my dark thoughts.

I realised my feet had carried me back to the village and we had stopped in the middle of the clearing next to a large ring of stones and a burning fire. Merlin was chewing on something and one eye had closed, his arm outstretched.

"Wild basil, fennel and acorn mix," said Kay proudly. "It strengthens the third eye and it doesn't taste that bad either."

"If he can tell me how dragon tears can help then I don't care what he has to eat."

"Dragons?" muttered the old man. He chewed the leaves and searched his encyclopaedic knowledge of the flora and fauna of the isles. "Dragon's scales are good for defence, impenetrable shields, dragon skin is impenetrable and good for clothes as it is fire resistant..." he hummed a moment, "and dragon's tears have healing properties."

I couldn't help the excitement that crossed my face. "So what do we do with them?"

"You need to boil it for seven days, adding... lets see now," he muttered for a moment and his other eye twitched madly before reeling off a long list of ingredients. "30 drops of passionflower, skullcap, Valerican and milk thistle to protect the liver from side effects. A drop of belladonna, arnica for overexertion and lemon balm to sweeten the taste, or wild mint."

I clapped my hands together in excitement. "Brilliant!" But Merlin hadn't finished yet.

"After you've boiled it, it needs to be strained and boiled must then be left to sit in a cool place for two weeks. It'll be safe to drink after that."

"A month?" I cried out dismayed.

The old Woad's eye cracked open and fixed me with a cool stare. "Dragon's tears are toxic unless boiled continuously for prolonged periods of time and the acidity reduced by the addition of natural herbs. So if you'd like a slow painful death then please, drink it quicker."

I blushed, properly chastised. He spat out the ball of leaves he'd been chewing and frowned at Kay. "Needs more fennel," he assessed before stalking off to his own hut, leaving the three of us bemused.

"Man's obsessed with fennel, him and his sweet tooth," muttered Kay crossly but I didn't care as I broke into a smile, wild laughter suddenly bubbling up out of my throat.

"I have a cure!"

* * *

True to his word it took Merlin and Kay exactly one month to concoct the potion that would cure me.

But the waiting was pure torture and the closer the day drew when I could drink it and be healed, the more my nerves and doubts began to cloud my mind. I had nightmares every night; of the cure not working, of having missed the deadline, of Kay drinking it, of my friends pouring it on the floor to spite me, of a thousand and one impossible things that nevertheless left me shaking when I woke and unwilling to fall asleep.

My friends were good to me though. The knights had still not come back from their expedition to contain the troll problem and I helped Guinevere to look after the children. Vanora had returned with her brood and Guin's other child Fritha, a very comely little girl who had her mother's mischievous nature. Looking after the children not only took my mind off my worries, it almost meant that I could keep my friend company and not have her miss her husband too much.

It was wonderful to see Vanora too, and we spent many pleasant hours reminiscing in her kitchen as she tried to teach me to cook more than the simple dishes I had been used to fending for myself on my nomadic wonderings. I also shared my stories of my home and of the family I had left behind, but these tales always left me smiling instead of tearful. It felt good to share the memories I had of my loved ones.

The day the potion was ready though soon loomed. Kay had dropped by early that morning to say it would be ready to drink that afternoon if I was willing. I'd almost crushed the woad healer with my enthusiastic hug.

I decided to take the dogs out hunting to while away the time, trying to walk off nerves. We headed up past the forest towards some low lying hills in the distance, covered with beautiful purple heather. I was just beginning to enjoy myself, when Gyda let out a sharp bark. Kaleb and Fenrir were also on the alert and had their hackles raised and teeth bared as in the distance I spotted a figure on horseback drawing closer at speed.

I clutched my bow and strung an arrow. I had learnt in my travels that it paid to be wary of strangers and I hadn't waited all of this time just to be killed on the day of my cure. There would be no ironic endings for me. As the rider came closer I began to make out details- it was a dark haired man and he was slumped over the front of his horse. The animal began to slow as it neared another human recognising help, trotting over towards me. The man's head rose wondering why his horse was slowing and as I met his eyes in shock a gasp escaped my lips. The man's eyes widened.

"Ymma?"

And then he slumped forward off his horse and fell to the ground. I dropped my bow and ran towards him.

"Tristan?"

I turned him over with trembling hands but he was already unconscious and burning up under my hand. His jacket was torn and peeling back the leather, underneath a large wound ran along the length of his side that was obviously infected. With a great deal of effort I managed to prop him up over my shoulders and eventually against his horse. I bit my lip and with another burst of energy pulled his jerkin and him over the saddle, pulling his leg over as well. I managed to get up behind him and pushing him forward so that he was propped up against the horse's neck we raced back to the village, even as I whistled for the dogs to fetch Merlin and Kay.

We tumbled rather than dismounted from the horse and I winced as his head bounced against the ground. Muttering apologies I propped him up against me so that we shuffled into Guinevere's house, me bowed under his dead weight as his body leant against my side, one arm across my shoulder.

It was the closest we had been in years.

"Tristan!" Guinevere put Artorius in his crib and rushed over. "What happened?"

"I have no idea, I went out this morning and his horse was heading in the direction of the village. It was pure chance that I came across him first. He's in a pretty bad way though." My voice shook slightly.

"Have you called for Merlin?"

"Aye, I sent the hounds. It was the quickest way I knew."

She helped me lay him on the bed as we waited for the healers to arrive. "We'll need to strip him," Guinevere said watching my face carefully. I nodded without comment and so we each reached for a boot and tugged. I reached for his arm to take out of his long jacket and it was then that I noticed the rings.

"Guin, look."

One burnished gold ring was on his left ring finger, and on his little finger was a twisting piece of silverwork, beaten into three interlocking ropes. It was beautifully made. Guinevere's eyes met mine.

"Those are wedding rings."

I pursed my lips, ignoring the lancing pain in my chest where my heart was.

"He wasn't married before he left here," she continued softly, "maybe he isn't married at all- maybe they're rings of relatives."

"Or maybe we can face the truth that he is actually married," I snapped, jerking Tristan's arm out of the jerkin harder than I needed to. "It's been five years for Frige's sake, he's allowed to find someone else. It's not like we promised each other we wouldn't ever fall in love again..."

My voice trailed off as tears threatened. The lump in my throat was painful.

"Ymma, I-"

"I'm fine," I bit out. Guinevere chose to say nothing and gradually we stripped him, leaving him only in the loose linen short. I wasn't surprised not to find him wearing the protective pendant I had given him so many years ago, but the thought of him getting rid of it, throwing it away somewhere stung my heart.

We were both glad when Merlin and Kay entered and broke the awkward tension. Kay immediately rested his palm against Tristan's forehead and opened his eyes to check for dilation, as Merlin took his pulse. The older woad then inspected the nasty wound running across Tristan's side. The two healers looked at each other.

"Low blood pressure, hypothermia and bleeding under the skin. I'd say he's going into septic shock. And there's discharge from the wound that's badly infected, it's red, swollen and smells bad," Kay listed, his face grim.

"Septicaemia," Merlin concluded. "I'm afraid he's dying, and I have no cure for death. The best I can do is to make him comfortable and perhaps give him something for the pain to ease him into the next life."

The news was a shock and Guinevere sat down heavily in a chair next to the bed, her expression closed. I looked at the man on the bed, noticing how little he had changed in the five years we had not seen each other for. He was still as lovely as he had always been, though perhaps he had an extra wrinkle or two around his eyes and his mouth. I wondered if he had thought of me at all in the time we had been apart, the time he had clearly chosen to use to make himself a new life. A new life he would no longer enjoy if I didn't do something.

It was time to make a decision.

"Give him the potion."

"No, absolutely not," said Kay angrily. "After all you went through to get it!"

"You make it sound like I'm throwing it away, I'm not. I'm just being logical. I can't use my runes to heal him, but I can use the tear. It's our only choice."

"No it's not," Kay retorted, his hand closing on my wrist.

"You heard Merlin, he's dying." I pulled my wrist out of his hand softly, and he let me go, seeing the determination settle on my face.

"But without it you'll die."

"And without it he'll die! He hasn't got long- it's amazing he's held on for as long as he has!"

"But that tear is the only one you've got! Once it's used you've given yourself a death sentence."

"I've got a couple of months- he hasn't even got a couple of hours. Besides," I touched the wedding bands on his fingers with more than a hint of bitterness. "He has someone waiting for him. _Hornungsunu_. I already have enough regrets in my life- I won't let him be another."

I took a breath and squared up to death. "Do it."

"Very well," said Merlin. "We'd brought the potion thinking it might have been you that we'd been summoned for."

It seemed I was destined for irony after all. Guinevere's fingers threaded through mine and we both watched in silence as Merlin removed the stopper from the bottle filled with the smooth milky substance. A rather pungent aroma filled the air, a sticky sweet one, and Merlin motioned for us to prop Tristan up as best we could. The old woad pressed the bottle mouth to the knight's lips and tipped his head back, letting it pour in slowly. Tristan began to swallow automatically fortunately, and it only took a few minutes before the bottle was completely drained.

"It is done. Now we must wait for the tear to take effect."

"How long will that be?"

Merlin shrugged. "This is no exact science. It could be hours, it could be days." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "We must take it in turns to keep vigil next to him. He will be disorientated when he wakes up."

Guinevere volunteered herself for the first watch and I agreed to take over after Kay had replaced her. It was a task I was not particularly looking forward to.

"Any change?" I asked, hours later, the thin sliver of moon shining in from where I stood in the doorway. Kay nodded.

"His breathing has evened out, and his skin colour is a lot healthier. He's much warmer and I checked his wound which seems to be healing nicely. I'd say it was a miracle."

The knowledge that it could have been my miracle went unsaid, though Kay's tone and expression clearly indicated that he held no warmth for his patient, and that I had been stupid in giving away my own cure. I took his offered chair next to the bed, and he stretched, yawning.

"Merlin will relieve you in the morning. Call out if he goes downhill suddenly, though I have no doubt that by tomorrow morning he will be perfectly healthy."

That thought cheered me somewhat and giving the healer a small smile, one that he did not return, I watched him go, settling back into the chair for the long hours ahead of me. I studiously avoided looking at Tristan's face, because I knew if I did the urge to reach out and touch him would be too strong. I yawned again and began to count the stars I could see out of the window. It was going to be a long night.

I fell asleep with my head pillowed on my arms on the side of the bed. The next thing I felt was a hand stroking callused fingers through my hair. For long moments I simply lay still, enjoying the soothing, gentle motions. The feel of metal against my head though jarred me into reality. There were wedding rings on those fingers, and Tristan was no longer mine. I lifted my head up from my arms and met his dark gaze.

"Ymma."

My breath hitched as he reached out a hand to touch my cheek. But it was the wrong hand and I flinched away. His eyes instantly went to the bands on his hands.

"Ymma...I..."

But he never did get his chance to finish his sentence. Arthur burst through the door, worry etched into the lines crossing his face, chilling my blood. When he began to panic something was very, very wrong. He grabbed my arm and pulled me up and out of the door, without even a greeting, after so many years.

"Arthur, what in Thunor's name is going on? When did you get back? Are the others here?"

But he didn't reply and instead hauled me through the village in the early morning light, up along to the top of the fortress defence walls. I remembered the last time I'd been here, the panic and confusion all around me, and the memory was unwelcome.

"What is going on Arthur? What...oh gods."

I swore, the words falling from my lips as I gazed out beyond the wall, out across to the hills beyond and saw what was coming our way, heading directly for the fortress.

Arthur's expression was grim. "My sentiments exactly."

* * *

**Please read and review my faithful followers! Your reviews are some of the best I have ever had and they always bring a smile to my face. I'd love to know your thoughts on this story especially as we prepare for the final chapter- it might be the next one or possibly the next one after. As it's not written I'm not entirely decided on how to end this! But be sure it'll be dramatic, there might be a death and definitely a good healthy shake of romance and angst as Ymma and Tristan deal with the fallout of those wedding rings and what Ymma and Arthur can see coming straight for them.**

**Information:**

**Láðwende: **Hostile

**Draca**: Dragon

**Scitan:** Shit

**Silver Fir:** Was sacred for the druids. It was also known as the Birthtree. Burning the needles or sweeping around the bed with a branch, blessed and protected a mother and her new baby.

**Echinacea:** Also known as coneflower it has anti-biotic and immune boosting effects. perforated ear drums will heal by themselves but a bit of echinacea would have done her no harm.

**Yew and Willow:** Following the Celtic Tree Alphabet, Yew is the tree of Death, the exact opposite but also compliment of Silver Birch the life tree. Willow is parrticulaly useful when coming to water as it is associated with sorrow and so these two trees would be perfect to appease an angry sea goddess, especially if she's already drowned a whole village and acquired a taste for human flesh.

**Ileigh:** An imaginary village I made up, but there are accounts of this happening, and of those villagers who escaped forcing themselves to watch as their homes were destoryed to give themselves courage and make themselves brave.

**By Loki: **Expression of shock. Loki was the trickster god, particularly whimsical and likely to cause more trouble than good.

**Mæstfæder:** Greatfather.

**Modor:** Mother.

**Human Sacrifice:** Most ancient peoples practised human sacrifice and most historians accept, thanks to archaeological evidence such as the Tolland and Lindow Men, and the various accounts of ancient sources (however biased), that the Celtic and Germanic peoples did practise human sacrifice. Though this was stamped out during the Roman occupation of Britain it is highly likely that with the beginning of the Dark Ages that human sacrifice to some extent did return.

**Wild Basil**: Enhances psychic powers and strengthens the third eye.

**For Frige's sake:** Frige was the goddess of women and fertility and weddings.

**Hornungsunu**: Bastard.

**Herbs Mentioned in the Dragon Tear Potion:** These were taken from various sources and were used and still are in various medicinal practices. However, please consult a medical professional if you are yourself suffering from magical overexertion. Dragon tears are hard to come by and belladonna is poisonous so please do not attempt your own version of this potion, unless you are a qualified homeopath with a herd of wild dragons living in the mountains nearby you.

**In Thunor's name:** God of thunder. Good all round expression of shock or anger.


	14. The Piper's Children

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the film King Arthur and its characters, but I do own all other original characters created for the purpose of this story.

**Pairing:** Ymma/Tristan, Guinevere/Arthur

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

"What have you done?" I murmured, the words spilling from my lips in horror.

As far as the eye could see, stretching like a jagged black line across the horizon were hundreds and hundreds of trolls. They were all heading towards the fortress, whose walls would be nothing more than an annoyance to creatures whose skin could repel fire and magik, whose life functions consisted of breeding, eating and fighting, and who were more than eight foot tall walking killing machines. We'd all be dead by nightfall unless some sort of miracle presented itself.

My horror found an outlet in sarcasm. "Oh, well done." I turned to Arthur condescendingly. "You've brought the trolls home with you. I think Guinevere would have preferred flowers to be honest."

Arthur ran a hand across his face. "We thought they would be few in number, that it was just a small localised problem that we could deal with."

"They're not rabbits," I pointed out. "This isn't just something that eats the crops and annoys the farmers. They start off hiding under bridges, eating wayward goats, and then if they go unchecked they steadily move up the food chain until you wake up one night to find they've smashed in the front door and they've come for you." I chewed my thumb. "If you couldn't kill them _there_, how exactly are you going to kill them _here_?"

Arthur sighed. "We'll think of something. We have to. By the time we got there Keswick was completely destroyed."

"No survivors?"

He shook his head and I shivered, unable to grasp the solemn reality that a whole town had been wiped out and eaten by these creatures. It was sickening.

There were footsteps behind us and I turned to see Tristan watching us warily. A broad grin found its way onto Arthur's face.

"Tristan!" The two men embraced. "At lease here is something to be thankful for! When did you return?"

Having no desire to be anywhere near the other knight, I slipped away down the other set of stairs, Tristan's eyes on my back all the time as I walked away. I was shaking I realised, and it had nothing to do with the early morning cold, or the dew on the ground that soaked through my shoes.

In saving Tristan I'd failed to think of the aftermath of having to actually be around him.

"Ymma!"

I whirled, a smile suddenly breaking out onto my face. Now here was a sight for sore eyes.

"Dagonet!" He clasped me in a bear hug which I returned with enthusiasm. "How are you my old friend?"

"It worked. I can't believe it but it worked." He grinned. "That'll teach me to doubt."

I raised an eyebrow. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Your gift- the wooden rune you gave me when we parted last." Comprehension was slowly dawning.

"I told you to rub it if you ever needed me..."

He pulled it out of a pocket in his tunic. "I've kept it with me ever since, but thought it just a trifle you'd given in comfort. But then the trolls happened and we were in pretty dire circumstances. So I followed your instructions like you said, and I return to my home and here you are." He squeezed me again happily. "Though I wish we could have met again in happier circumstances."

I shrugged. "If there wasn't trouble happening you'd be bored."

"True." He grasped my hand and pulled me towards a large room I recognised as the knight's headquarters, the room containing the round table that was currently strewn with maps. "Come, you must say hello to everyone."

I stumbled after him into the dark room and squinted, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light in here... and then I made out my friends.

"Ymma!" Suddenly I was squashed between three or four male bodies. "You've returned!"

"Can't. Breathe."

I was abruptly released and I sucked in a lungful of air. I smiled dazedly at Galahad, Gawain, Bors and Lancelot.

"You haven't changed at all," I said accusingly. I patted Bor's stomach. "Except I see you're expecting. When's the baby due?"

He swiped at me playfully. "I'll have you know this is pure muscle."

Lancelot smirked. "His training regime is very brutal. He sleeps until noon, then he eats, then he sleeps some more..." He ducked to avoid the punch coming his way. "We don't know how he does it."

I laughed, enjoying the banter I had missed for so long. I dropped down into an empty chair. "So have I missed anything?"

"Lancelot's settled down."

I stared and I'm afraid my mouth dropped open a little in shock. Then I shook my head and laughed. "Very funny, you almost had me. Lancelot sticks to one woman when pigs fly. Now what's really been happening?"

"I'm getting married," said Galahad bashfully. Seeing he was next to me, I seized the young man in a hug.

"Congratulations! What's her name and what's she like?"

"Now you've done it," teased Dagonet. "You forget she's a woman and just as silly about these things as the rest of them."

I shot him a dirty look. "You'll be celebrating the day you finally trick some poor woman into taking your annoying self as a husband."

There was a ripple of laughter around the table. I turned back to Galahad.

"Well?"

"Her name's Elaine and she lives in the village here." I raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you'd always planned to go back to Sarmatia and marry a girl from your own country?"

"Ah, but Galahad saw the fair Elaine and all thoughts of Sarmatian beauties flew from his mind." Lancelot grinned wickedly. "It does help that she has enormous brea-"

"Thank you," I cut him off. "I get the picture."

"And he loves her of course," he added. Galahad turned dark red, which suited him in a sweet sort of way and I smiled.

"I'm very happy for you."

I felt more than saw Arthur and Tristan enter the room, though the knights all acknowledged their leader and greeted Tristan enthusiastically. Of course they hadn't seen him for about the same amount of time as I had been away and I left them to catch up as I spotted a face I had almost missed in the crush of old friends.

I walked up to the wiry youth in whose features I thought I recognised...

"Lucan?" The teenager smiled and I pulled him into a hug. "So how many hearts have you broken?" I teased. "You must have to beat the girls off with a broom." He turned bright red and I grinned.

"Very funny," he said grumpily. "I was about to say it's nice to see you again...but now I'm not so sure." I ruffled his hair and he sighed and patted it down again. "I'm not a child anymore Ymma." His tone changed and I detected an undercurrent of pride when he said, "I'm training to be a knight. Father's teaching me."

"Father?"

The boy nodded his head in Dagonet's direction and I smiled. "He adopted me a year after you left."

"And is he any good?" I joked.

"Well..." Lucan laughed. "He's very overprotective. It took me a year to go from practicing with a wooden sword to a real one."

"And with good reason," said Dagonet, coming over and planting a hand on his son's shoulder. "You would have had someone's eye out the way you used that thing." Lucan rolled his eyes.

"He exaggerates a lot. Eurgh!" Kaleb, recognising an old familiar scent had jumped up and put his paws on Lucan's shoulders, licking his face frantically. The boy wrinkled his face and pushed the hound down, wiping drool from his face. "It's nice to see you too."

I was about to take a seat when Tristan's voice cut through the noisy chatter.

"Will you not even greet me Ymma?"

I stiffened and the tension in the room ratcheted up a notch. Gyda growled from her position at my feet. The noisy chatter of the knights died down as I stood from my chair and walked over stiffly, to where he stood, leaning against one of the beams holding up the roof. Fenrir's gleaming eyes followed me from his position under the table, ready to protect me if necessary.

"Wes ðu hal," I answered curtly, unconsciously echoing the last words I had spoken to him five years ago. Ironic, that both goodbye and hello could be contained in one single phrase.

"It's good to see you again," he said gently. I pursed my lips. His softly, softly approach was not going to work on me, and if he thought he could erase five years of heartache with his apologetic eyes and kind words he was in for a shock.

"I wish I could say the same. _Endewærc,_" I added under my breath as I moved back to my chair. He shot me a look, and something passed across his face, as if he could understand the word I had just spoken. I had never taught him it. What had he been up to whilst he had been away and who had he been mixing with? I would have no answers to my questions unless I confronted him, and I wasn't about to do that anytime soon.

Fenrir rested his head on my thigh and I patted him soothingly.

"To the problem at hand," began Arthur as the knights seated themselves. "How do we rid ourselves of these trolls?"

"They're impervious to magik and fire, but in water they sink like stones. If you could lure them to a swamp or lake they'd drown," I offered.

Dagonet shook his head. "But there's no water here in an easy distance that we could drive them to."

"I say hack them to death," Bors thumped the table with his sword as if to emphasize the point. Guinevere quietly slipped into the room at that point, Artorius in her arms and settled herself in a chair next to Arthur. She gave me a small smile and I turned back to Bors.

"You want to chop up a whole herd of trolls? " I said incredulously. "They're not sheep; they're going to fight back. One swipe of their hands and you'll be decorating the walls of the fortress with your brains."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Gawain mused. "His brain's not that big. There wouldn't be much of a mess." Galahad muffled his chuckles behind his hand as Bors glared at them.

"We tried fighting them before," pointed out Arthur, "and there are simply too many for it to be effective."

"Why don't we dig holes and put spikes in them. Instant impalement." Gawain's eyes gleamed in the early morning light.

"But we have neither the time nor the manpower to dig spiked pits before they come. We have until the end of the day," Dagonet reasoned.

Gawain folded his arms. "We could shoot them with flaming arrows."

"That's just going to annoy them even further," I said. "It'd be like trying to kill someone by giving them a nasty splinter."

"Our best strategy seems to be to entice them over the cliffs," mused Arthur.

Bors eyed his leader and then scratched at the stubble forming on his chin. "Aye, but how do we lure them away from the town?"

"We either have to vanish the town or divert them around it somehow." They all looked at me expectantly.

"I can't vanish a town," I vetoed flatly. I would have struggled before I was dying, but now the magic would have sapped me dry if I'd even begun to chant. The most I could magic was perhaps a very basic rune reading and even that was pushing it. Now I didn't even have a cure anymore. I chanced a glance at Tristan under my eyelashes. The man was now the picture of health.

Guinevere dandled the baby on her hip. I smiled at the fact she'd brought her infant to a war counsel and nobody had the courage to say anything about it. Not even Arthur. Vanora was babysitting Fritha with her own brood.

"You summoned a dragon," she pointed out.

"You did what?" Arthur's voice was strangely high pitched as the knights looked at me in shock. I waved it off.

"I didn't summon it for a start," I argued, "and we are very off topic here. Forget vanishing the town, the easiest thing would be to lure them round it to the cliffs."

"But lure them with what?" Asked Lancelot. "What's more enticing than tasty human morsels encircled by a town?"

"Human morsels not encircled by a town?" Lucan offered cautiously.

"Exactly."

Guinevere shook her head. "But we can't endanger the lives of the people. And they'll never leave the mostly certain death of staying in the town for the very certain death of being on the cliff tops."

"And the trolls will never go after a handful of us. They're clever enough to know there are more people in the town," I mused.

"So where do you suggest we magic some people up from, who are mad enough to play bait for a herd of stampeding trolls?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow.

My smile turned wicked. "I have an idea."

* * *

"But you told me to never, never do people," Guinevere pointed out as we stood on the cliffs.

I peered into the sack of dirt I had gifted her for her wedding present. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"I know what I said. Listen to what I'm saying now," I frowned. After five years of use there was perhaps a bucketful of soil left, perhaps a little less. Still, it would have to be enough. "We're doing people. We have no choice." I shoved her hand in the sack. "Now pick up the dirt, throw it in the air and say the magic word."

She rolled her eyes at my patronising tone but did as I asked.

"_Awendan_!"

The soil flew into the sky and the woad woman nervously backed away to stand near her husband and the other knights. I stayed completely still, watching in anticipation as the soil disappeared into the ether. For a moment there was nothing but silence and then Guinevere let out a muffled scream.

Not that I could blame her. All around us the forms of children began to appear, shadowy outlines at first, before faint wisps of detail began to be added, the lines of their clothes beginning to solidify, until we were standing in a sea of children.

Except these were not real children.

"This is why I said no people."

They stood motionless, unblinking, staring vacantly out at nothing. The wind didn't even ruffle their hair as though they were frozen solid. Children of ice, with their blank faces, pale skin and even paler hair.

"They have no souls," said Guinevere horrified.

"Actually they don't have bodies," I said passing my hand straight through a little girl's head and out the other side. She didn't even twitch. Lucan's face turned green and Dagonet put one hand on the boys back and shoved his head between his legs to stop him being sick.

"They're ghosts," guessed Bors, and even he looked a little dismayed by them, despite being the least superstitious of the knights.

Arthur frowned, his Christian sensibilities causing him to put his hand on my shoulder. "Are they dead?"

"Not exactly." I murmured. "They're Pied Piper children. Trapped between worlds."

"Pardon?" Arthur's words brought me back to my senses.

"An old tale from my homeland," I dismissed. "I should not have spoken of it. It's bad luck."

"But how will this help us?" Asked Lancelot.

"Trolls love the flesh of children better than anything." I motioned to the small army of youngsters around us. "So we leave them on the cliff tops to draw the trolls from the city. They'll smell and look and sound like real children, if I just remember how to do this." I bent down and stared into the blank eyes of a very thin little boy, who looked barely four summers old. I concentrated hard and hummed a few notes under my breath, trying to think of cadences, remember the haunting tune we'd been told to beware of when we were little. My mother's warning voice.

"_And if you ever hear the Piper calling you, run away as fast as you can. Run for your lives for when the Piper plays all those who heed his call are lost forever."_

I hummed a little louder, just the same few notes over and over. Nobody had ever heard the full song and not gone with the Piper, so I only had scraps to go on.

"Look." Galahad's gentle voice made me open my eyes. The children had woken from their stupor as though they had never been statues, and had begun to play and run around like normal children. One child gambolled through my stomach after his friend.

Not like normal children then.

"What did you do?"

I shook my head. "It is forbidden to speak of it. It is an evil story and involves dark magik." I turned away from the laughing children. "But never ever repeat the notes I've just sung. You don't know what you'll summon."

* * *

We trooped back to the village in a strange mood. On the one hand we had a solution to the troll problem. On the other hand, that solution was fairly morbid and disconcerting. I glanced over my shoulder to where the children were still playing together.

"How long will they stay there?" Came Arthur's voice at my elbow.

"Until I tell them to leave. The song controls them," I explained, "but I only know so much of it. I just hope the Piper doesn't come for them until after we've stopped the trolls. Speaking of." I ran up the ramparts, swiftly followed by Arthur and the rest of the group.

"They'll definitely be here by dusk. At least we'll have some light to see by," Gawain estimated.

By my side Guinevere shivered. "So we just have to wait?"

"There's nothing else we can do," said Arthur pragmatically. "We can't beat that number in open combat. If this plan doesn't work then run. It's either that or stay and die."

"A happy choice," quipped Lancelot and I managed a grin.

"Pray to whatever gods you believe in for a happy outcome. I'd hate to see a troll rearrange those pretty features of yours."

"Come we should break our fast," said Arthur turning away from the heading destruction.

Bors cheered. "I was wondering when someone would make a sensible suggestion."

I rolled my eyes, but made to follow after the group when something tugged at my elbow sleeve.

"I need to speak with you," said Tristan. I frowned and watched as the knights walked towards Vanora's kitchen, the smell of honeyed porridge gently scenting the breeze. Guinevere looked back at me and caught my eyes. I jerked my head and she began to make her way back.

"Well I have nothing to say to you," I lied, "so if you'll kindly let go of my arm." His grip didn't move though and I had to wrench my arm from his grasp as I turned.

"_Anbidian! Ge sculan mid me ænextan gecweðan_ Ymma," Tristan spoke. I stopped in shock. It was impossible. How could he know my own language? How could he speak it as if it was his own, something he possessed. I latched onto the safest emotion I could feel. Anger.

I whirled. "How dare you speak to me in my own tongue. You have no right to use it."

He didn't smile but there was satisfaction in his eyes at finally getting a reaction out of me. "If you will not let me speak to you in the language of the Britons then I will speak to you in your mother tongue. Perhaps then you will acknowledge my existence."

My eyes narrowed. "Oh I acknowledge you exist. It's just a pity."

"Where did all this anger come from?" He stepped closer and brushed my face with his fingers gently, as though I was a rabbit about to bolt. "When did you become so hateful?"

Properly riled my vision turned almost red with anger. "It came five years ago when I was left alone on a beach. It came watching you walk away from me. It came from knowing I wasn't enough." I waved my arms in the air and laughed harshly. "What did you think would happen if you ever saw me again? Did you think you'd be forgiven? That seeing you wouldn't cut me to the quick?"

"You still love me," he stated, and it was the undertone of pleasure in his voice which caused me to utter my next words.

"No," I said viciously, as Guinevere came and stood beside me. "I hate you. Don't ever come near me again."

* * *

I spent the rest of the day in a foul mood and I'm afraid Guinevere took the brunt of it. She'd been blessedly patient with me all day (a fact I must attribute to her having children), as I'd sullenly spooned porridge into my bowl at breakfast, as I'd inspected the town and walked along my old haunts at lunch, and silently sat through the evening meal crumbling bread into my stew. Eventually though she cracked as we sat in her house doing chores, waiting for the call to arms in the murky dusk. The trolls were barely two miles off.

"Ymma?" Asked Guinevere tentatively. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Right." She put her hand on my shoulder. "That's why you're folding the washing as if you're going to kill it."

I dropped the shift back into the basket and sat back on my heels. "I hate him. I actually loathe his guts. I want to rip out his hair and stamp on his kneecaps."

"Would we happen to be talking about Tristan by any chance?"

I scowled.

"Would you really be so angry with him if you didn't still love him?"

I began to fold the shift again in sharp, jerky motions. Guinevere snatched it from my hands before I tore it and smoothed out the creases.

"You really need to talk to him. You don't know how he came to be wounded or where those rings came from."

I snorted. "I think I can guess."

"Ymma. You need to sort this out, otherwise it's going to fester and become worse."

"I don't wa-"

"Guinevere! Ymma!" Vanora's call cut through my retort. Abandoning the washing we both rushed outside.

"What is it?"

Vanora's face was pinched white with worry and I could see the villagers watching from the battlements, their movements quick and frightened.

"They're here." I surmised. "Get the villagers down, we don't need the trolls being distracted. Get them to stay quiet and in their houses. We'll be back in a bit...hopefully."

Leaving Guinevere to say goodbye to her children (who were being left in the care of Vanora) I returned to the house to strap my bow and arrows to my back and pick up my old walking staff. Not that they'd do much good but I felt more comfortable with the weapons on me. Kaleb, Fenrir and Gyda were eager to go, having fed on the nervous anticipation of the town all day. Their ears pricked and hackles raised, fighting and hunting were their natural instincts and they had been bred for a day like today.

We joined the knights at the town gates and walked in silence to the outcrop of the hill where we could watch what was happening without being seen. The children were still dancing on the cliff top, seemingly tireless in their play, unconscious of the danger heading their way.

The air was thick with tension as we waited to see if this would work. I spotted Lucan nervously fingering the pendant around his neck- the boar's head I had given him as a parting gift- and wished for my own pendant back again. But then that was also missing from around Tristan's neck...another mystery I need him to solve for me. My fingers itched for my runes, for my magik. I would have to content myself with the feel of the staff in my hand. It reminded me of the old days, of sweeping out the feet of the roman guards, of rescuing Lucan...

There was a distant roar. I shifted back unconsciously. The hunting call of the troll really was a hideous sound. The ground underneath my feet began to shake and I clutched onto Dagonet to steady myself.

"It's a stampede," he muttered.

And then they finally came into view. I bit my tongue as the trolls came upon the town, fingernails digging into the palms of my hand as the lumbering brutes ranged up to the walls.

But they passed it.

There was a collective sigh of relief as the trolls thundered past, their hunger shining in their eyes, jaws slavering at the sight of so much vulnerable young flesh left out in the open.

"It's working," said Bors wonderingly.

Arthur's face though was still tense. "Don't speak too soon. We haven't got rid of them yet."

So we watched and we waited as the trolls got closer and closer to the dancing children who were oblivious to the danger heading towards them until it was too late and the trolls were upon them, their thick, tree trunk arms reaching out to scoop up the children and crush them between their teeth.

But their arms found nothing. Instead there was a panicked cry from the first of the trolls as their momentum carried them straight through the playing infants and over the cliff.

Even that warning cry could not stop them though. As the creatures fell, others amongst them tried to halt their speed but were crushed from behind by the rest of the herd and they poured over the edge like a rock slide. Hundreds tumbled to their death in waves until eventually only the stragglers remained; those too young or too weak to keep up with the herd. They milled about the cliff top stupidly, still trying to capture the airy children and roaring in their confusion and anger. I counted five still left. It was enough to pose a challenge but not enough to be unmanageable.

Bors grinned. "Now do we get to do my plan?"

I rolled my eyes and shared a grin with Guinevere. "Yes, now you can hack them to death if you like." He let out a roar and charged down the hill, the rest of the knights following behind. I hesitated.

"You can stay here if you like," she said kindly. "I know you have no stomach for fighting."

I began to walk down with her. "I'm a healer not a warrior but I'll help if I can." I motioned to the town walls. "I'll stay here and shoot at a distance."

She squeezed my hand and ran off to join the others who were dodging and dancing around the trolls, trying to avoid being squashed or eaten even as they slashed with their swords. I strung an arrow to my bow and waited for an opening to use the arrow where it would have most effect, keeping a watchful eye on my friends, though they seemed to be enjoying it if anything. With so few trolls to take care of the battle was much more even, and even Lucan was managing to get in a few good swipes. I took my eye off the carnage for a moment to adjust the feathers on my bow.

That's when the troll ran towards me.

I yelped and ran as fast as I could, the dogs at my heels barking. I banked sharply to the left and suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder.

I screamed.

"Run with me," said Tristan in my ear and I let him pull me along as we raced over the grass toward the other knights, toward relative safety. I chanced a glance back and sucked in a breath. The troll, despite being slowed by the sharp turn was almost upon us, it's meaty fingers reaching out to crush Tristan's head between thumb and forefinger like a grape.

"Duck!" I turned and loosed the arrow from my bow with deadly accuracy. It sank deeply into the eye of the troll. The creature roared and pulled at the shaft, ripping it out with a sickening squelch, pulling out arrow and eyeball in one. He swiped with a free hand and I ducked, rolling to the side and dry heaving. I was no warrior and I certainly didn't have the stomach of one. Tristan pulled me up and we ran again, dodging the flailing limbs of the creature as it raged. Tristan suddenly whirled and swinging his sword hacked off the arm that was about to ground us into dust.

"Thank you for saving me," he said, watching the limb drop to the ground. Thick red blood spurted from the wound and I was suddenly coated in gore.

"It was an accident I swear." I pushed my suddenly blood grimed hair from my eyes and wiped my hands on my tunic, not that it did much but move the blood around.

"I think not," he said, his sword singing through the air and impaling itself into the chest of the troll. The creature bellowed and sank to the ground as Tristan twisted his sword and delivered the killing blow. "You saved me because you love me."

I scowled and looked away from the scene of carnage, trying valiantly not to be sick, as the dogs lapped at the blood on the ground. "At this point it's a thin line between love and hate. Needless to say I don't like you very much."

Tristan smirked. "I can work with that."

* * *

Eventually there were no more trolls left alive or in one piece. We shoved the remaining parts over the cliff edge to join the rest of the herd. The sea and the birds would get rid of the bodies heaped up at the bottom and the shark and the sea serpent would have their share too.

I cast a glance around the group. We were all splattered in troll gore and I wrinkled my nose. We stunk.

The ghostly children were still playing on the cliff tops, their laughter sounding incongruously as they skipped on the bloody grass. The air shimmered suddenly and a shadowy figure in cape and flute appeared, twisting in dark and light at the same time. Beneath his hood I caught a mocking smile stretched across his angular face.

"I think you've had them long enough," the stranger murmured darkly.

Beside me Arthur's hand went for his sword, but I stayed his arm with a violent shake of my head.

"Piper," I acknowledged. "_Wes ðu hal_ Loki."

The god smirked and bowed his head, his cloak rippling around him. "_Becumen bearnin_!"

He trilled on the pipe, a harsh discordant sound and vanished into the air. He left only the faint smudged outline of himself and his ghostly children following after him.

The knights watched warily as silence once again fell. In the distance we could hear the cheering of the town people as they celebrated upon the wall tops and I felt a bubble of laughter well up in my throat.

"We did it!" I hugged Arthur who stared at me in bemusement, dirt smeared across his cheeks, though a similar smile was playing upon his mouth too.

Dirt...

It was like lightening hitting me and my chest suddenly felt so full I thought I might burst.

"Guinevere," I asked, "may I borrow your wedding gift for a moment?" The woman nodded, though her face creased in an unspoken question as we began to trail our way back home.

As soon as we reached the town she disappeared into her house, reappearing moments later with the sack. Inside was one final handful of dirt and I gripped it tightly before throwing it into the air.

"Ymma?"

"_Awendan!"_

The dirt flickered and then a bottle dropped from the sky, round and filled with a thick milky substance, corked at the top.

"Your cure," said Guinevere in amazement, as I caught it in both hands. I released the stopper with fumbling fingers, pressing it to my lips feverishly. I gagged. It was the most disgusting thing I'd ever tasted, but as the cure coursed through me I knew I could put up with any taste if it would mean that I would live.

I drained the bottle and grinned, suddenly feeling better than I had done in years, as the dragon's tear potion tingled through my body, instantly reconnecting me with my magik. I breathed a sigh of pure relief. I would be able to use my beloved runes again and it was like part of me I hadn't even realised had been missing was suddenly restored.

"I wish Mildryth had said to do this in the first place. It would have solved a lot of problems. No dragons needed." I laughed and spread my arms out wide, exulting in the feeling of being absolutely and wonderfully healthy and alive.

"Why do you need a cure Ymma?" Came Tristan's voice softly at my side. His face was pensive...was that worry hidden in his eyes?

I frowned, my elation deflating rapidly. "I don't owe you any explanations. Not when I have no idea how you came to be injured, or where the pendant I gave you has gone." I grabbed his left hand in mine accusingly and squeezed. "Or why you're married."

Fire kindled in his eyes. "I am no-"

Guinevere's cry of alarm cut him off and I turned, dropping his hand and the fight that was begging to be started. She was frantic and behind her Vanora was crying, as Guinevere ran her hands wildly through her hair. I'd never seen her so discomposed, this out of control before.

"Where are my children?"

Arthur caught his wife in his arms and cupped his hands around her face, trying to make sense of the scene. "What's going on?"

Guinevere choked on her tears, unable to speak. Instead Vanora answered for her friend.

"I put the children to bed and the mites fell asleep easily. I turned to stoke up the fire...and when I turned around again they'd gone."

"What?"

Vanora wrung her hands in her apron as Bors wrapped an arm around her. "Fritha and Artotius. They're nowhere to be found. They've just vanished."

My face drained of all colour. A horrible feeling washed over me, something sick and heavy. I turned to where the children had been playing and gazed at the empty cliffs. Remembered Loki's mocking laugh as he disappeared.

"The Piper has them." My hands clenched into fists. It was a conclusion I didn't want to draw but one I instinctively knew was the right one. Of course Loki wouldn't have gifted us the use of his children without some sort of exchange in return. He just hadn't seen fit to inform us of the terms of the agreement.

Guinevere wiped her tear smeared face, determination crossing her face. "How do we get them back?"

My fingers tingled with my newly restored magic, aching to be used again. It sparked at my fingertips, amber sparks skittering in old familiar patterns across my skin.

"We're going after him. Kaleb! _Gefecgan!_" The hound raced off and within minutes came back, my rune bag clutched in his mouth. "Good boy."

As soon as I had the runes in my hand I felt whole, like I hadn't done in years. I sank my hand into the bag and automatically pulled out the two runes I needed, Thorn and Raed, running my fingers over their comforting weight, the grooves of the symbols. Feeling the thrum of magik calling to magik. This was home.

"Join hands," I instructed, "and whatever you do, whatever you see, don't let go."

Arthur's face was furious, Guinevere's resolute as they held hands, and Tristan's blood stained fingers linked with mine. For once I didn't object.

I threw the runes up in the air with my free hand and shouted the spell words. "_Æfterfylgan dysignese_!"

The words shimmered in the air as the runes stopped in mid fall. There was a flash of darkness as if the sun had suddenly been swallowed.

Then the world disappeared.

There was nothing but the dark all around us, the feel of Tristan's hand in mine...and in the distance, the haunting sound of children singing.

_Beware the Piper's call my child, beware the siren sound,_

_for where the Piper plays his song the children can't be found._

_Remember Hamelin town; for there the parents weep and pray._

_The toys lie all discarded where the children were at play._

_The beds are always empty now, to never more be filled_

_along with empty hearts and smiles. There everything has stilled._

_There's no more playing in the square, no games or infant call,_

_there's no more children left you see- the Piper took them all._

_So keep your wits about you child; this lesson you must learn._

_Where the Piper plays his song... the children don't return._

* * *

**Please Read and Review! If everyone reviewed this chapter who were signed up for this story alert I would _double _the number of reviews I have for the _entire_ story! **

**Anyway, this story has deviated masssively from the original plot I had planned, (apologies for late update but the characters just want to take themselves off in directions I hadn't thought of and so this is what you get).**

**I hope you liked it!**

**Story Information:**

**Trolls: **Ah, the classic of children's literature. First the Three Billy Goats Gruff, then Harry Potter and now my story. The Saxons believed in trolls along with all sorts of mythical creatures such as dragons, elves, dwarves and sprites.

**Keswick**: Lovely place in the Lake District near me. I had no real reason to pick it as a place to be destroyed by marauding trolls, it just happened to be in the North. Apologies if any of my readers (though I severely doubt it) come from there. On the otherhand, your hometown has made it into fiction, which is quite cool lol.

**Pied Piper:** A dark children's story based on a true event in the town of Hameln in the 13th century. I've twisted the myth to suit my own much more frightening purposes and the god Loki is my Piper. I've sort of got a soft spot for the trickster god, despite the fact he's a nasty piece of work. I made the rhyme up myself.

**Loki: **The trickster god himself, Loki is the original anti-hero. A sort of celestial con man. You don't want to like him, but you do. As a god he's been and done pretty much everything, including giving birth to an eight legged horse.

**Raed:** In divination Ræd means a journey that should be or has been taken. In magic, it can be used to send one on a journey or to keep ordered movement.

**Thorn: **In divination, Thorn can mean, "look before you leap," or proceed with caution. It is a dangerous rune to be used in magic but can be used for defensive spells although it is commonly seen used in mythology and folklore in curses.

**Translations:**

**Endewærc** : Pain in the bum.

**Awendan:** Change.

**Anbidian! Ge sculan mid me ænextan gecweðan: **Wait! You must speak with me eventually.

**Becumen bearnin:** Come children.

**Gefecgan:** Fetch.

**Æfterfylgan dysignese:** Follow after folly.


	15. Backwards To Go Forwards

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the film King Arthur and its characters, but I do own all other original characters created for the purpose of this story.

**Pairing:** Ymma/Tristan, Guinevere/Arthur.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

**Sorry for the late update, but in between posting the last chapter and this one I've had to write a dissertation for my degree. And if any of you have ever had to write one of those you'll know how painful it is. And that everything else gets put to one side.**

* * *

"Loki!" I called out into the utter darkness. "Loki!"

But the words seemed to be swallowed by the shadows rippling around us, pressing in and smothering my summons. There seemed to be nothing but the sound of my own breathing, the steady pump of my heart in my chest in reply. I couldn't even see my own hand in front of my face.

Tristan's fingers squeezed mine and for a moment I felt reassurance. A moment of courage.

I stretched my free hand out blindly, unsure what exactly I was searching for, but knowing that every moment we stayed in this stifling blackness, the more likely it was we would never see the children again.

And then my questing fingers _touched_ the darkness. Or rather, my fingers passed through it, as though I'd sunk my hand into a river full of warm honey. Then my wrist had gone and I was elbow deep and it was sucking me in.

I yelped, wrenched my hand free and stumbled back into Tristan. His grip on my hand grew unyielding as the darkness suddenly spun around us.

And then there were no more strange, undulating shadows rippling round us but light, too much light pouring in from every side like steam. White, crystalline light, like sunshine reflecting off the highest, deepest, winter snows. Cold, brilliant… blinding.

I winced and ducked my head, screwing up my eyes, even as spots danced at the back of my eyelids.

Icy fingertips ghosted across my cheek. "Ymma."

I jerked my head up.

The light had dimmed until it was only marginally painful to look round, like looking at the midday sun from the corner of your eye. I could see the others, still in the line I'd made them form and linked by their hands. I ran my eyes over them briefly, checking they were all right before turning my attention to the room we were in.

Then wished I hadn't. We were standing in a vast room, a feasting hall, but that was as far as the similarities to anything mortal I had seen ended. There were steps running up the walls, round the ceiling and back again. There were mirrors and glass everywhere, till everything was reflected and refracted, whirring crazily. Even the colours wouldn't stay still. They shifted and moved as though alive, and I realised that any relief I felt from the darkness being lifted was temporary. My stomach flipped over and I tamped down on the urge to be sick. Taking a few calming breaths I closed my eyes. The fingertips grazed my cheek again, firmer this time.

When I opened my eyes again though, my gaze was irresistibly drawn to the figure floating above us. He was too solid, too real as if we were but the shadows instead.

I felt the group inch closer together.

I dragged my eyes over his form taking in the thick cloak and hood that hid his form and face in darkness, but for the angular jaw and the thin lips that were quirked in an ever present mocking smile.

"Loki." I hid my fear in a bravado I didn't feel, wishing I could see his eyes. "I like what you've done with the place."

The god bowed mockingly. "I'm so glad. To what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely company?"

"The children you stole. Fritha and Artorius." I chanced a glance at Guinevere and Arthur, fear and anger etched into their features. "Give them back. Now."

"Stole?" Loki tutted and sank into a throne that appeared from the kaleidoscopic light behind him. He slouched idly in it. "I did no such thing. I merely took payment for your misuse of my children."

I ignored the accusation. "They're not piper children Loki. They can't stay here. You have to give them back." We both knew there were certain rules he had to obey.

"And what will you give me in return?"

Unfortunately there were also rules I had to obey. Tristan's fingers tightened painfully over mine.

"What do you want?"

Loki fluidly twisted his pipe between his fingers, his voice turning thoughtful. "What do I want? Now that_ is_ the question."

"I will gladly pay any price you wish," said Arthur, standing forwards, his face grim and determined.

Guinevere stepped up beside him, still clasping her husband's hand. "Me too."

"Aye," echoed Bors, moving forwards. The rest of us stumbled with him as he suddenly moved, pulling on our linked hands. "We all will."

Loki laughed, his voice chill like icicles breaking. "How like mortals to be so brave and so foolish." His pipe twirled in his fingers and then suddenly it was pointing at me. "But it is the spellcaster who must pay the price. Isn't that right, Ymma?"

I scowled. "I'll do whatever I need to do to get their children back and you know it. Strike your bargain."

Loki's smile turned nasty. "Bargain? There is no bargain. There is only my wish and your obedience."

"Which is?" I folded my arms. "I'm beginning to tire of your games."

"I apologise. Am I wasting your time?" He stepped forward, his pipe suddenly pressed against the flat of my cheek. I felt Tristan tense beside me, but I squeezed his hand and stayed where I was, refusing to be intimidated.

Loki tilted his head to the side, and the hood slid forward even further, so only the tip of his chin could be seen. His voice when it came seemed almost disembodied.

"Very well. Shake my hand and we have an accord. The children and your friends will be returned to the mortal world the moment you agree."

"But I don't know what the price is!" I protested.

He shrugged, in a suddenly very mortal gesture. "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

I sucked in a furious breath and turned back to the others who had crowded in around me, the line looping in on itself.

"You don't have to do this," said Guinevere quietly. Seriously. "We wouldn't think any less of you if you chose not to agree. We would understand."

"And live with that guilt?" I said incredulously. "Knowing I could have done something and chose not to? Forget it." I smiled crazily. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

"He could make you do anything," Dagonet pointed out.

My smile slid off my face, as sudden panic began to bubble up in my chest. A crowd of horrible, disgusting things suddenly flashed past me, a hundred little futures of what could be.

I grimaced but faced the reality of the situation. "I haven't a choice." I took a deep breath. "Loki's a _hornungsunu_ but he is bound by ancient laws to keep his word. Once the deal is complete he will fulfil his end of the bargain."

Guinevere suddenly hugged me hard. "Good luck."

I hugged her back. "I'll be back before you know it."

The other knights shuffled uncomfortably and then suddenly there were arms and limbs everywhere as the knights pressed around me, hugging me in farewell. A hand grazed my breast.

"Lancelot!"

I pulled back from the group hug to see the dark haired knight smile unrepentantly. "What?"

"You never change." I rolled my eyes and then turned back to the man beside me who had stayed sullenly silent all this time. I managed a small smile, though my attempt at reassurance seemed rather pitiful. "Tristan..."

He kissed me hard. Desperately. His lips pressed against mine, over and over again and I never wanted him to stop. "I love you," he murmured against my mouth. "I love you and I'm sorry; I should have said it sooner."

My heart leapt painfully and I had the sudden urge to cry. "I-"

"If you're quite ready?"

My reply died in my mouth and in that moment I could quite happily have killed Loki. The god did always have awful timing- there was no way now I could say those three words back; I couldn't say anything at all. I swallowed and took a last look back at my friends. At Tristan. His eyes burned into mine and then I let go of his fingers.

My hand dropped loosely to my side. Empty.

"Ymma, your hand."

I offered the god my left hand, my right still hot and aching with the remembrance of Tristan's fingers twined with it.

I slid my fingertips against his, my hand sliding palm to palm against his ice cold flesh. Loki suddenly tipped his head up, the hood of the cloak sliding back over waves of thick golden hair. His mismatched eyes of glacial blue and sunkissed bronze met mine.

Then the world exploded.

* * *

I woke up.

Then wished I hadn't. My whole body ached. Even my hair felt sore, like someone had grabbed a fistful and yanked back on my scalp. Groaning, I gingerly sat up, wincing as my body protested. My neck cracked as I twisted to try and take in my bearings.

I appeared to be in a forest of some sort judging by the trees, and I could smell salt and seaweed nearby. Was I by the coast? Forcing myself to my feet I stumbled towards the edge of the forest heading for the light in the distance. Eventually the trees petered out and I found myself on a shingle beach. A tug of recognition echoed uneasily within me.

I squinted, trying to make out anything at all in the thick fog that was starting to roll in from the sea, as if the whole land was gradually being swallowed. A gull cried out and I turned sharply towards the sea.

There in the distance was a ship. A ship I recognised with two figures on it, a man and a woman, disappearing into the fog.

"You have to be joking."

It couldn't possibly, possibly be happening. It was ridiculous, unbelievable…I gave myself a hard pinch, but all that did was leave an angry mark on my arm.

I looked back up, just in time to watch myself and my brother sail away on the ship he had built himself five years ago. Five years ago.

_Am I wasting your time?_

"Loki. You absolute-"There weren't even words to describe how I felt. So I spite of gods indeed.

I pinched myself again, desperately this time, willing myself to wake up. But nothing happened, and all I got for my trouble was a trail of bruises running up my arms.

I sank down onto the shingle. This was horribly, horribly real. Loki had thrown me back in time. Back five years in my own past.

With that realisation came a strange numbing sense of acceptance.

Loki had been an evil git. Fine.

I was trapped in my own past. Fine.

There was absolutely nothing I could possibly do about it. Fine.

My stomach rumbled and I sighed. There at least was one problem I could solve. I headed back into the woods and began to scrounge for anything I could find. Of course this time round I had neither my faithful dogs nor any of my hunting equipment. With a sharp pang I realised I didn't even have my runes. All I had was the clothes on my back and me. That was it.

I was on my own with nothing.

I slumped down onto the forest floor and sobbed.

* * *

I must have cried myself to sleep because the next thing I knew night had fallen and my own shivering had woken me. I picked myself up, still hungry, still cold, still lonely and headed back to the beach, wondering whether it was worth heading down the coast towards some of the friendlier fishing villages I had often been to with Dathan. I couldn't risk going back to the village here- I would have a very hard time explaining to everyone how I was still here when not eight hours ago I had sailed off with my brother, and my friends had watched me with their own eyes.

A sudden breeze blew in and I wrapped my arms around myself to stave off the cold. Stumbling onto the shingle the moon sliced through the clouds and my heart suddenly thudded painfully in my chest.

Tristan was standing on the beach.

So he had come back. I'd often wondered about that last painful meeting on the beach. Wondered whether he'd ever regretted his decision.

"_Why would you let me go?" _

"_Because that is what you wish."_

"_Ask me to stay."_

…

"_Your brother is starting to miss you." _

Even now the words still stung, wrapped as they were round my psyche like thorns.

There was a sudden cry and I flinched as the sound whipped through me. The call was almost animal like- a wolf howling to the darkness and I knew where I had heard it before.

Badon Hill.

The warriors cry. Arthur had uttered it once, but never with such despair, such anger. And there was anger. It bubbled up over Tristan's vocal chords; it tightened his body till he was a jagged upright line in the moonlight, so that he almost split the light in two as it spilled around him.

Suddenly he ripped something from his neck and hurled it into the sea.

I almost cried out. My beloved sun pendant.

"_I should give you this back."_

"_No! It was a gift. Some things you can't return."_

I stiffened. Now I knew where that had gone, but having a reason didn't make me any happier. Instead, waves of hurt and anger rolled over me.

How could he have thrown my gift to him away like that?

Tristan seemed to come to the same conclusion because suddenly he was frantic, pelting into the sea fully clothed. In a moment he had dived into the surf, and disappeared from view. I held my breath as he stayed submerged, the moments passing and still no sign of him. Where was he? Then I spotted his head as he broke the surface for a moment only to dive back down again. I lost count of the number of times he dived.

But my pendant was gone. The current had taken it. Tristan staggered out of the waves and collapsed on the beach, soaked and shivering, though he seemed not to notice or care.

By the time I realised my feet walking towards him it was almost too late to turn back. So much for staying out of sight.

I sat down gingerly next to him. He stiffened, but didn't look at me. "Are you a ghost?"

"No. I'm real." I held out my hand. "Touch me?" I hated that my command had turned into a plea. Unexpectedly I was in desperate need of human contact.

At first he didn't move. Slowly, inch by inch he turned towards me and reached out for my hand, taking it almost unwillingly. But as soon as my hand slid against his, he couldn't get enough of me. His hands clutched at me everywhere, his mouth following, leaving hot kisses against my mouth, my neck, my cheeks, my hands and hair. He seized me to his chest and I let him, even as his drenched clothing soaked into mine. I shivered against him.

"I don't understand. The boat left. Have you decided to stay after all?" His voice was rough with hope and longing, tempered by the knowledge of disappointment.

"Tristan." I pulled away and frowned but he tugged me back again.

"I change my mind," he said suddenly, desperately, the words tripping out of his mouth. "I want you to stay, please, stay with me. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

My eyes burned with tears. It hurt. It hurt so much to know that if I'd stayed… I couldn't even finish the thought. Five years wasted. Five years without him.

He was clinging to me, still murmuring against my hair, in my ear. But I had to tell him the truth. Strange and incredible though it was.

"Tristan. I didn't stop." I took a deep breath. "I did leave in the boat." There was a horrible pause and I rushed on. "I'm from the future," I babbled. "I know that might seem mad but…"

I trailed off. He was laughing.

"This isn't a joke. I was thrown back in time by a god and..."

Tristan laughed harder.

I slapped him. Twice. "Look at me!" I cried. "Look at me! I'm not the same girl you knew. Can't you see that I'm older? That I've changed?"

I gripped his head between my palms and made him look me in the eye. His laughter died, replaced by a despair I almost couldn't bear to see.

His hand slid across my cheekbone. "Then, she...you...you really have sailed."

"I'm sorry."

He turned away from me and gazed out to sea. "It was my own doing. Let me take the credit for that at least." He began to shiver more violently now.

I stood up and tugged at his hand. "Come, we need to get you out of those wet clothes."

He nodded absently and began to walk back to the village. I waited a moment then turned back to the sea and held my hand out towards it.

"_Gemetan."_

Silently my sun pendant reappeared, wet and salty in my hand.

* * *

"When do you...do you ever come back?"

"Tristan," I sighed. "You know I can't tell you that."

The knight, now clothed in a warm tunic, stared into the fire, brooding. I tugged one of the numerous furs I'd found in his room further over his shoulders and poured out the thick broth that had been heating over the fire into a couple of earthenware bowls. I'd stolen it from Vanora's kitchens upon finding Tristan had nothing in his supplies but a bit of dried rabbit and a jug of mead. The knight probably would have gone without, but I was ravenous with hunger.

I handed him a bowl. "You should eat."

He didn't touch it. I rolled my eyes and put it down beside him, before settling in front of the fire and ladling the stew into my mouth. I almost moaned in pleasure. Vanora's cooking, in whatever time period, was a pleasure.

"What are you going to do?"

I shrugged, trying to remain upbeat. "Wait for five years to pass I suppose. I'll come back then and meet you all here. Loki will have sent the old me into the past and spat the rest of you back with the children." I sighed and tried not to think about the years that stretched before me. "Just have to wait for the past to catch up with the present."

"Where will you go?"

I looked up at him in surprise, but Tristan wasn't looking at me, he was still staring deep into the heart of the fire.

"Well I can't stay here. I can't go to my brother's home as I'm already there." I frowned. "That's a really odd concept that I'm going to try not to think about." I licked my spoon clean and then set the bowl on the floor. "I suppose I'll go wandering again. I've spent enough years doing it before I met you all. I guess I can do it again."

"I'm coming with you."

"You can't," I replied instantly, bluntly refusing to look him in the eye.

"Why not?"

"Because if you come with me we might end up changing the future. You could be killed, or I might never return, or…" I bit my tongue. _You may never get married._

His eyes darkened and suddenly he was on the floor with me, holding my chin between his fingers. "Is the future you lived really that good that you would wish it to remain unchanged?"

_Five years is a long time. You might find that things have changed…wandering from place to place? It sounds rather lonely...my magik started shorting out on me, and I ended up in longer and longer comas… he wasn't married before he left here…I'm afraid he's dying, and I have no cure for death…I already have enough regrets in my life- I won't let him be another…you've brought the trolls home with you… I know what I said. Listen to what I'm saying now…they're Pied Piper children. Trapped between worlds…oh I acknowledge you exist. It's just a pity…I hate you. Don't ever come near me again…whatever you do, whatever you see, don't let go. Don't let go._

Guinevere's voice suddenly came to me, clear as day through the jumbled snippets of my past. The conversation we had had when I had returned.

"_Not all the knights went though. Tristan wasn't with them."_

"_Oh?" _

"_Yes, he left a few weeks after you did, going back to Sarmatia. We haven't heard or seen him since."_

Tristan's eyes were still boring into mine.

"Yes," I said eventually, hoping I wouldn't live to regret this. "You can come."

* * *

It only took Tristan two weeks to find a boat that would take us. In that time, whilst he worked feverishly putting together supplies for us to take, I stayed firmly hidden in his room, whittling myself a new set of runes from a piece of cedar he'd found for me. I wasn't going five years without a set. It would be like travelling blindfolded. Blindfolded with both arms strapped behind my back.

In the early hours of the morning we were to leave I slipped down the beach and boarded the ferry boat waiting there. Wrapped in a hooded cloak and seated by the steersman I watched my friends saying goodbye to Tristan. Eventually I had to turn my head away, finding it too painful to watch the familiar faces I wouldn't see for so very long.

Finally there a small shudder through the wood as Tristan boarded, the boat pushed off and we began our journey across the channel.

He took my left hand in his.

"I lose five years of my life and I'm exiled from both of my homes." I tried to smile. "I must have really rotten luck."

"You still have me."

I rested my head against his shoulder and tried not to cry. "Yes. I still have you."

_But for how long?_

* * *

We headed for Sarmatia. Tristan wanted to visit his homeland, and I had no objection to travelling there. It would be the furthest east I had ever been and the idea of being somewhere new was exciting. The only thought that tempered my happiness was that each step we took brought us closer to Tristan's bride.

Still. Putting aside the fact that I would eventually have to watch the man I loved wed another woman, I found that in my new life with Tristan I was content. Sometimes I could even admit to myself that I was happy. Admittedly, at first it was strange. I'd always wondered what Tristan had done in those five years we'd spent apart from each other. And here I was finding out that he'd been spending them with, well…me.

With Tristan's hawk and his bow we had all the food we needed and we soon settled into a routine. We would wake, wash as best we could and then aim to walk as much as 20 miles a day, stopping to eat a meal along the way. In the evening we would try and find suitable shelter, perhaps under a canopy of trees, or sometimes in an inn (if the rate was cheap) and once in an abandoned barn, amongst the sweet hay. I would build a fire, whilst Tristan and his hawk would go hunting. Eventually they would return with a rabbit, or a small deer and we would eat our meal before sleeping and beginning the process over again.

At first I'd slept stubbornly apart from him. He'd argued that I would be cold, that sharing body heat was a rational thing to do. Part of me realised that. The other part of me, the desperately in love with him part was having none of it, knowing I would just end up feeling emotionally worse in the morning, despite being physically better. So I retorted I'd done it for as long as I could remember and not frozen. We'd argued, both of us stubborn and refusing to budge an inch. In the end I'd stomped off and slept under a hawthorn bush and Tristan lay down by the ashes of our fire and sulked.

But I'd forgotten I'd always slept between my hounds and their warm bodies.

I was freezing all night. The next day my joints ached, my back was stiff and I had a horrendous cold. I sniffed and Tristan just shot me a look. From that night on I always slept curled up next to him. In petty revenge he did end up getting my cold. I couldn't help but smile.

So that was how we lay now, on the forest floor, watching the dying embers of the fire, Tristan pressed close against my back, his arm curled around my waist. He groaned against my neck and buried his hot head closer between my shoulder blades.

"Thank you for blessing me with your infernal cold."

"_Ælde. Ge ian gelic bearnen áhwænne ge niman geléwed_."

"What did you say?"

I rolled over onto my other side to look at him. "I said men become like children when they're ill."

"Oh." He tested it out on his own tongue, but soon I was pressing my hands over his mouth.

"Stop, stop!" I cried. "My ears are beginning to bleed. Here try something easy. Repeat after me '_min nama is Tristan. Ic habban ac hafoc_."

He tried.

"Almost. Flatten your a, and drag out the last vowel."

He repeated it twice more until it was perfect, and then smiled at me proudly. "Now what have I just said?"

"My name is Tristan. I have a hawk."

He rolled his eyes. "I feel like a child again."

"Everyone has to start somewhere." Suddenly another piece clicked into place. "By Frige. That's how you knew my tongue. I taught you."

"What?"

I waved my hand. "Forget it. Bad things will happen if I tell you the future. _Géosceaft__ is __ǽfre__ bicce_."

He tried to copy me. Badly. I couldn't help but laugh, a fully belly laugh so that I shook against him.

He titled my head up and stroked his fingers down my cheek softly. "You never laugh any more," he said quietly. "You should. You look beautiful."

I didn't have a response to that, so I ducked my head under his chin, fisted my hands in his cloak, slowed my breathing and went to sleep. We both knew I was pretending, but Tristan was kind enough not to say anything.

As we journeyed on though, and I began to teach him my language, more and more things were gradually clicking into place. I fingered the pendant in my pocket pensively. I had an answer for that and I now knew how Tristan was able to speak my language.

My heart suddenly thudded as I watched him calling for his hawk.

But there were still the matter of the wedding bands. My face fell. And then there were the matter of his injuries. His fatal injuries I had treated with the dragon tear potion what seemed like lifetime ago. How had he got them? I fretted to myself, imaging scenarios. Had he got them defending his wife? If so where was she? Why hadn't she come with him to Britannia?

Tristan turned and beckoned to me, the magnificent animal now perched on his arm. "Hurry Ymma! We can make that outcropping of trees before nightfall if we're lucky."

I smiled back, but my heart wasn't in it. "Coming," I called.

And there was another question that had been circling round my mind for a while now, gnawing at me, so that sometimes I woke panicking in the night, and not even Tristan's arms around me could help soothe the fears away.

If he had obtained his injuries whilst being attacked, where exactly was I? Where along this little wandering of ours did I leave him?

Or he leave me?

* * *

It took us nearly five months to get to Constantinople. But it was certainly worth the trip. I had never seen such a beautiful city, or one so large. Taverns and shops lined the walkways, as high marble buildings stretched up to the heavens. It was a bustling, noisy place, merchants selling their wares in the markets, slave girls filling their amphorae at the fountains, people eating, drinking, laughing down the roads. We passed high temples with gods I had never even heard of before, but who sounded just as petty and jealous as my own set.

As Tristan went to buy food at the local market, I wandered over to one of the many fountains where the women were washing their clothes, and sat on the wide lip that ran round the water. Catching the glitter of coins beneath the surface, I almost had my nose pressed to the water when one of the women said something to me.

Unfortunately it was in Greek, so I had absolutely no idea what she had said. I smiled apologetically and tried to mimic that I didn't understand. She tried again and said something in what I can only assume was Latin, then scrunched up her nose and said, "_Peregrinus_? _Barbari_?"

Now, there were words I recognised. When I nodded she nudged the blonde haired woman beside her who was elbow deep in suds, muttered a few words and motioned to me.

The blonde looked up from her washing and smiled. "She says you throw coin over your shoulder. You wish for something…it will happen. Fountain is…magical. The god Neptune. Throw in coin and he grant your wish."

I fingered the coins in my pocket that Tristan had given me to buy whatever I wished and then looked back to where he stood, staring the market vendor down silently into giving him the best price.

I sighed and turned away from the fountain. I had had enough of the whims of gods to last me a lifetime.

I ran the coins over my fingers and then pocketed them again resolutely.

We needed to buy bread, not wishes.

* * *

The trouble with trying to find Tristan's tribe was that the Roxolani were a nomadic people. Trying to find a constantly travelling group of people was difficult in itself, and it wasn't surprising then when from leaving Constantinople and heading north round the Black Sea that it took us three months before Tristan suddenly grabbed my arm.

"What is it?" I asked, suddenly panicked, wondering if he'd spotted bandits on the road ahead. We'd been attacked a few weeks back, and I still had the bruises to remember it by. Fortunately we had come off better than the five men who had tried to rob us.

Needless to say, they weren't exactly with the living anymore. Not after Tristan had finished with his sword anyway.

"That mountain- I remember that mountain. And the stream…I played in it as a child..." He gripped my hands suddenly and began to run down the steep hill side we had been trudging down, dragging me after him. I almost slipped on the scree as he charged along like a little boy again.

"Tristan!" I called breathlessly. "Tristan! Wait!"

He stopped suddenly and I almost collided with him. As it was I managed to narrowly avoid bumping into him and pulled myself to a halt beside him.

And then I saw what had made him stop.

Below us, hundreds of covered wagons were rumbling over the valley floor, thick crowds of people walking along beside them. I could hear the faint sound of singing and the lowing of cattle and horses as they were herded along.

"Tristan? Is that them?"

The hope on his face was almost tangible.

"There's only one way to find out," he murmured, then cupped his hands around his mouth and called, the shrill piercing cry of a bird of prey born on the air and sighting home.

* * *

** The next chapter will be the last, and as I've written the last lines I know exactly how it's going to end. So don't worry folks. The end is nigh!**

**Please read and review – positive feedback is always welcome, moaning is tolerated if it has a point, and I will be posting the next chapter very soon :) **

**Story Information:**

**Loki: **The trickster god himself, Loki is the original anti-hero. The celestial con man. You don't want to like him, but you do. As a god he's been and done pretty much everything, including giving birth to an eight legged horse.

**Woden:** Saxon godof death, battle, wisdom and discoverer of the runes and their powers.

**Constantinople:** At the time this story is set (467-472 approx.) Constantinople was part of the Roman Empire, was a bustling metropolis and one of the largest cities in the world. It would have been an obvious place for Ymma and Tristan to head for and stop at in their search for Tristan's people.

**Amphorae****: **Vases with narrow necks and two handles.

**Neptune: **Roman god of water and of the sea.

**Roxolani: **A real, historical people who wandered around what is now Romania and by the Black Sea. They were conquered by the Huns in the fourth century and we don't know all that much about them. As such, I'm using a bit of writer's license to fill in some of the gaps.

**Translations:**

_Hornungsunu_: Bastard.

_Gemetan_:Find.

_Ælde. Ge ian gelic bearnen áhwænne ge niman geléwed_: Men. You become like children when you are ill.

_Min nama is Tristan. Ic habban ac hafoc_ : My name is Tristan. I have a hawk.

_Géosceaft__ is __ǽfre__ bicce_: Fate is always a bitch.

_Peregrinus_? _Barbari_? : A Peregrinus was a free provincial subject of the empire who was not a Roman citizen, i.e. someone like Tristan whose land was occupied by the Romans. A Barbari was originally a Greek term for anyone who wasn't Greek or who spoke Greek badly. Later the word barbari came to be the word barbarian, i.e. a foreigner. This would be someone like Ymma, whose own people were not subject to Roman occupation as they were still fighting against the Romans, refusing to be conquered.


	16. Homecoming

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the film King Arthur and its characters, but I do own all other original characters created for the purpose of this story.

**Pairing:** Ymma/Tristan, Guinevere/Arthur.

**Summary: **Ymma's a Saxon who was sold as a child to a stranger travelling through her land. Brought to England she lives a nomadic lifestyle until she helps a young woman trapped in a Roman's dungeon and her whole life changes.

* * *

There was an anxious moment as we waited in silence.

Then...there on the breeze was an answering call. A series of beautiful swooping vowel sounds melting together.

And then we were off once more, rushing down the mountainside, Tristan pulling me along as I stumbled after his long legged run. How we made it down the slopes without breaking our limbs I can only thank Frige, but Tristan barely seemed to notice the sharp descent, his whole being concentrated on running to the valley floor to meet his people.

As we drew closer and closer I realised we were running to meet someone- a woman. Her dark hair flowed out behind her as she raced towards us, nimbly crossing the scree and the rocks to greet us.

"Tristan!" She called out, lifting her hands high in greeting.

A woman, I realised as we neared each other, who was very beautiful. Beautiful in a way I couldn't even begin to compete with.

"Tristan!" She called again and he dropped my hand to catch her in his arms.

As he hugged her tightly, whirling her round in his embrace I had to look away. The joy on his face made me wince.

I'd never seen him look so happy.

After what seemed like forever, I felt him gently touch my arm. One arm was wrapped around the woman at his side, and they both wore the same contented looking expression.

This was it.

"Ymma, this is Saris."

I smiled, wondering if the smile looked as fake as it felt. This was Her. This was the woman he would marry.

I tried not to hate her.

"Saris is my sister."

And like a fool, I suddenly burst into tears.

"Are you all right?" Saris asked kindly, touching my hand. She glanced at her brother in concern, before putting a bracelet covered arm round my waist. I sagged against her in relief. "Perhaps you are over tired from your journey. Come, you can rest in my tent."

She motioned with her head to the large crowd of people who had now assembled at the foot of the mountain, their faces brimming with joy. "Tristan, there are people who want to speak with you."

Tristan touched my cheek gently. "Will you be alright?"

I wiped at my tears, and nodded, though I could barely speak, the lump in my throat choking my words.

"Go on." I waved him away with a hand. "Your sister's right, I'm just over tired. Go greet your family."

"If you're sure."

The concern on his face made my heart twinge. "Honestly I'm fine. Don't let me spoil your reunion."

He smiled and kissed my hair. My heart leapt a little but I squashed it down viciously. So Saris was his sister. There were still hundreds of women out there waiting to greet him, anyone of whom could be his future beloved.

"I'll see you later."

I nodded and watched him walk away from me.

Saris tugged gently on my waist. "Come, I will show you to my quarters."

* * *

Saris' room was a large wagon, covered in luxurious animal skins and wolf pelts and as soon as I lay down on the wagon floor I fell asleep. The exhaustion and emotional stress of the day had taken more of a toll on me than I'd thought and I slept deep and thankfully dreamlessly.

When I woke I realised someone had covered me with a blanket, and taken off my shoes. Curling myself up in a downy soft coverlet I crawled to the edge of the wagon and lifted the flap a little, peering out into the darkness.

It appeared I'd slept the day away.

Beginning to adjust to the night I began to make out voices to my left, and the faint light of a fire. I squinted, straining my eyes and just made out Tristan's, familiar tall wiry form, along with a small, slender woman beside him.

Tristan poked at the fire, and it spat at him, sparks flying up into the starlit sky. "How is she?"

"Still sleeping soundly." That was Saris; I recognised the soft cadences of her voice, and realised it must have been she who had pulled the blanket over me and taken off my footwear. I made a note to thank her for her kindness in the morning.

"Is she your wife?"

I blushed in the dark.

"No."

"But you woul-"

"Don't." There was something in his tone that made Saris stop and I shivered and pulled the blankets further over me.

"What are you going to do about Bruja?"

Tristan's voice was hard. "Enough, Saris. I'll deal with it in the morning."

"As you wish," she replied, though I could hear the doubt in her voice.

They turned to other topics and having little idea about who or what they were talking about, I gave up eavesdropping and inched my way back up the wagon. Curling up in a ball, I pillowed my head on my hands and soon fell back asleep.

But I was sure I felt lips against my temple as I drifted off.

* * *

It was noon before I woke. Stumbling out of the wagon bleary eyed, my hair sleep mussed and my clothing rumpled, I was suddenly confronted by an Amazon woman, her blonde hair swinging low down her back in hundreds of tiny braids.

"Look who's awake. We thought you'd sleep the day away." The words were joking but her tone was snarled with spite.

I had to crane my neck to look her in the eye, and casting a glance over her smooth shiny hair, her fresh complexion and her spotless tunic dress, I felt my irritation grow. It didn't help that she was looking at me with barely disguised loathing.

"Yes?" I snapped. "Do you have a reason for standing in my way, or do you just feel like being bothersome?"

The woman laughed at me and rested her hands on her hips. "Tristan was right. You are snarky."

I scowled. "Thanks for the assessment." I made to move past her but she merely stepped to the side and blocked my path again.

"Not so fast, little one."

The nickname, which on a child might have been endearing simply made me feel patronised.

"Yes, big one?" I volleyed back. "Or do you have a name?"

That made her stop smiling.

"Bruja, princess of the Roxolani."

I opened my mouth to give her my name but she had waved away my words before I'd even offered them.

"I know who you are, Ymma. I welcome you as a guest to our tribe." She smiled and I glared, crossing my arms. There was something vindictive in the way she emphasised guest, as though I was a transient thing, passing through and never returning. Like a fly through the doors of a mud hut. Annoying but easily dismissed.

"Thank you," I managed to say through gritted teeth. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find somewhere to bathe."

I brushed past her, and fortunately she let me go without further comment.

It only took me a few minutes to find a small stream to wash in, but the meeting still rankled with me even as I tried to wipe away the previous week's worth of journeying. Now I knew who Saris was speaking of last night, but what she had to do with Tristan I had no idea, except the horrible one that whispered of marriage, which I boxed in a corner of my mind and firmly closed the lid on. Tristan could never be interested in Bruja. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but she was striking and statuesque... the ideal match for a warrior I supposed. But still...

I splashed myself with water and washed my hair, trying to ignore the princess problem for the moment. I glanced down at my attire, frowning. There was little I could do with my clothes, travel stained and dusty as they were. I pursed my lips and wondered if Saris would sell me enough cloth to make myself a new dress. At least that way I could attempt to clean my other clothes.

I had just made it back to Saris' wagon without bumping into anyone else, when Saris herself greeted me, carrying a bowl of stew and a thick slice of bread.

"Lunch," she said thrusting the bowl at me, her words softened by a smile. "Or breakfast in your case."

I took it thankfully and sat on the wagon steps. "It smells wonderful."

"It should do, I made it freshly this morning."

I thanked her through a mouthful of food for the use of her wagon. She smiled graciously. "Think nothing of it. You are my brother's treasured companion and I would not dream of doing anything less."

I warmed a little at her words, Bruja's comments receding to the back of my mind.

"But where did you sleep?"

"With my husband and my children in our new wagon. My husband had just finished building it." She climbed inside the wagon and began rummaging in some of the boxes in there. "This one was getting too small. With three growing boys there was suddenly not a lot of space." There was the sound of a box lid being shut and she poked her head back out of the wagon door. "You may stay in it whilst you live with us."

I beamed at her easy generosity. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"And…" she brought her hands out from her back. "I have found a dress for you. It might be too big- I wore it when I was pregnant with my last one, but with a couple of stitches here and there, I can take it in and it'll fit like new."

Unsure if she would appreciate being hugged, I wrapped my arms around myself instead. "Thank you."

* * *

Tristan popped his head through the wagon flaps some time later. "Sorry, I didn't realise you were busy."

"It doesn't matter. I'm finished now," said Saris as she fixed the last stitch. "There, good as new." She tied a knot, snapped the thread and smirked. "What do you think, brother?"

I held my arms out and twirled, the cornflower blue cotton fabric swirling round my legs.

He was silent for several moments as he gazed at me.

"Well?" asked Saris impatiently.

His eyes grew dark. "Beautiful as always."

I snorted at the smooth compliment, dispelling the moment. "What do you want?"

"Walk with me?" He held out his hand.

I glanced at Saris who rolled her eyes and pushed me out of the doors. "Go on, don't let me stop you. I should be getting dinner ready anyway."

"Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"And deprive my brother of your company? He's brooding enough as it is; I don't want to make it any worse." She winked in Tristan's direction as she shooed me down the steps. "Go, I'll be fine."

I tucked my hands into the pockets of the dress in the rapidly cooling evening. "Where are we going?" I asked as we walked down by the riverside that ran the length of the valley floor.

"Nowhere, I simply missed your company."

I laughed softly. "Tristan, we saw each other yesterday."

"Yes, but I've been used to being with you every day on our journey. It feels odd to not walk with you, or talk with you." He paused. "Or to sleep with you by my side at night."

"I thought you might be happy for a bit of space." I looked away. "Just out of interest, where did you sleep last night?"

"On the floor of my grandfather's wagon."

"Oh." I cleared my throat and avoided eye contact. "Well, you could always sleep in my wagon...if you wanted to. If no-one in your tribe objected. Not that there would be anything to object to as we're just sleeping." I flushed red. "Sleeping as in going to sleep rather than with anyone or-"

"Ymma." He pressed a finger to my lips and smiled softly. "You're babbling."

He kissed me softly, and then slid his fingers into mine. "Come, we should return. Saris will be burning the dinner if we're not back in time."

We'd walked further than I thought, and by the time we re-arrived at the camp Tristan's immediate family were already sat, eating their evening meal. As we walked closer, an older silver bearded man hailed us and room was made for us around the fire.

"Tristan! Come and sit down my lad. Come and sit down."

"Boklod," Tristan murmured in my ear as we squeezed in beside Saris, her husband Kildarr and their three young boys. "My grandfather."

"Our oldest relative," said Saris in my other ear. "Since our parents died, all he's wanted to do is see Tristan again, and now he's back he can finally die happy."

"He's not going to, is he?" I whispered back, startled.

"No, he's too preserved in mead to die," Saris grinned. "He'll probably live forever, pickled like eggs." She stood up, the joints of her knees cracking. "Let me get you some dinner."

"Why didn't you sit over here? Taking your young lady all over there." Boklod sighed heavily. "Honestly lad. Keeping her all to yourself."

Saris grinned at me as she handed me a dish. "Let them alone, grandfather," she said, refilling his bowl with more dumplings. "They're young and don't want to sit through your inquisition. Eat your food."

Boklod harrumphed, but did as his granddaughter bid, and we soon settled down to our meal, as Kildarr and some of Tristan's other relatives debated whether it was worth travelling tomorrow, or pitching the wagons in the valley floor and letting the cattle graze. As the evening drew on it felt natural to lean my head against Tristan's shoulder, and he drew his arm round my shoulders as I stifled a yawn. He smirked at me.

"I think it's time for bed."

I blushed. "You deliberately made that sound like an invitation."

"And if it was?"

I shoved him playfully and swallowed. "_Swine_."

He raised his eyebrows, mockingly shocked. "_Ge ac eower ádeliht muð_."

"_Ge ac eower_ _ádeliht gehygd_," I retorted, poking him in the chest pointedly.

"What are you two muttering to each other over there?" Interrupted Boklod, curling his beard around his fingers. "Speak so we can all understand."

I blushed and glared at Tristan. "You explain," I muttered.

"Nothing, grandfather," he said loudly. "Ymma is feeling tired and wishes to be excused."

Boklod nodded and waved his hand. "Yes, off you go, off you go."

As I stood up there was sudden movement from the shadows at the edge of the circle of figures around the campfire, and a young man stepped forward. I didn't recognise his face, but he soon identified himself as a messenger from one of the other campfires.

"Bruja wishes to see you Tristan."

There was silence from those round the campfire. Everyone looked to the man seated beside me, and I noticed Boklod's face was particularly grave.

I touched his shoulder gently. "Tristan?"

His reassuring gaze did not quell the worry at the sound of Bruja's name and his entwined together, but nobody seemed willing to offer an explanation of what was going on.

"It's nothing." He met my concerned expression and attempted a smile. "I'll see you later." Something must have shown in my face, because he kissed my temple and then pushed me towards the wagons.

"Go on. I'll be back later."

"_Gouden avend. _Goodnight," I murmured and turned away from the group, heading towards the wagon, feeling Tristan's eyes on my back the whole way there. Once inside, exhausted and confused I barely managed to pull myself beneath the covers before I was asleep.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been slumbering when Tristan slipping into bed beside me woke me. I turned and watched as he pulled his tunic over his head so he was merely clad in his trousers. I was glad it was dark so I couldn't see much; otherwise I knew my cheeks would have been aflame. As it was, I was glad that I hadn't decided to strip to my undergarments myself and had remained fully clothed. The temptation was bad enough as it was, without throwing us both being half naked into the mix.

"Well what happened?"

He grunted, returning to the uncommunicative man I had known when we had first met.

I frowned. "Tristan, what is going on with you and Bruja?"

He slipped an arm around my waist and nuzzled my neck. "Nothing. Go to sleep, Ymma."

Choosing to keep silent and bite my tongue, for once I did as he asked. If he didn't want to talk now that was fine.

I'd confront him in the morning instead.

* * *

I woke up deliciously buried in Tristan's chest, one leg sandwiched in between his. Momentarily contented I luxuriated in the feeling of being this close to him, where no one could interfere, where no woman claiming the rings I had seen on Tristan's fingers could suddenly appear.

There was a violent rapping on the wagon frame.

Tristan instantly woke beside me, his hand automatically reaching for the sword on the other side of him, warrior instincts still as alert as ever. I stuck my head out of the flaps. Bruja's smirking face greeted me.

I scowled at her. "What do you want?"

"Good morning to you to," she replied sweetly. "I was looking for Tristan, and was told I might find him here."

I pulled my head back inside.

"Tristan, what is going on?"

"Nothing," he muttered, shrugging his top on and buckling on his sword. He opened the wagon flaps. "Stay in here."

I snorted and went after him, toeing on my shoes. "Since when do I follow your orders? Tell me what's going on?"

Bruja watched us both with an amused smile.

"You mean she doesn't know?"

"Bruja," Tristan warned.

"Told me what?" I gritted out.

"I'm his betrothed."

Stunned I felt myself sit back down on the wagon steps.

"You're engaged?" I glanced from one to the other, feeling my face drain of blood. The world swirled sickeningly, and I breathed in deeply before I fainted. I managed a glare at Tristan. "I asked you last night what was going on and you said 'nothing.'" My fingernails were making bloody grooves in my palms. "That's what you consider 'nothing'? She's practically your _wife_ and you didn't think to mention it?"

His hands tightened on his sword, knuckles turning white, though his voice was soft and pained. "It wasn't officially decided until last night."

I scoffed. "You might have mentioned it when you came to bed." I felt a hysterical laugh begin to bubble at the back of my throat. "Or did you think, rightly I might add, that I'd kick you out if you told me the truth?"

"Ymma." He moved towards me but I shrank back on the steps.

"Don't."

Bruja laughed, and clucked her tongue mockingly. "Don't be mad at him Ymma. He's only doing his tribal duty."

I must have looked confused, because she deigned to take pity on me and explain, lovingly describing every detail.

"As princess it is my right to choose any man I wish for my husband." She flicked her eyes over his form. "I've chosen Tristan. He's everything I would wish for in a husband- an excellent warrior, strong, physically fit." She smirked. "And easy on the eyes."

A muscle ticked in my cheek, even as I sat there frozen. So this was it then. His wife. The rings would be hers, we would say goodbye, and one day, several years from now, we would meet again and I would save his life. But we would be nothing more than friends. Past acquaintances. It was how it was to be. I could almost see the _Wyrd _being written.

Bruja looked me in the eye. "Unless anyone else lays claim to him?"

Her words heated my blood, and I set aside my anger at Tristan to focus on her. "He's not a piece of meat," I snapped. "He's a human being. You can't just treat him like some sort of slave."

Tristan's fingers closed round my wrist. I ignored the tingly sense of warmth that skittered across my skin and glared at him.

"Don't tell me you agree with her?"

His eyes bored into mine, mutely asking me to understand. "I have little choice Ymma. I'm bound by the rules of the tribe. We are matriarchal- woman led. Bruja can choose who she likes. She is princess here."

"But you're a knight."

"Of an empire I have no love for, in a land far from here." His thumb gently stroked the soft skin on the inside of my wrist. "And besides, a knight is lower than a princess anyway, and here she rules."

I pulled my hand away from his, stung. "And you're just going to let her do this?"

Tristan scowled. "It's how it's always been."

My fingers clenched and unclenched convulsively, as Bruja watched our little by-play amused.

I took a breath in. I had to let him go. I had to let Tristan get married to the princess. I had to.

I had to Let. It. Go.

She smirked at me.

"_Ficken __þes_. I challenge you."

I felt Tristan's eyes on me but I was too focussed on Bruja to look anywhere else. Screw it. Tristan loved me, and I wasn't about to let a little thing like fate and a snotty warrior princess stand in my way.

Bruja's grin merely widened, and with a horrible sinking feeling, like swallowing a large stone, I realised I'd played directly into her hands. She grinned and clapped her hands together like a little girl, excited at the thought of her first _Geola_.

"I accept. I'll go and inform the tribal elders, but I expect we can begin, that is if you don't object, almost immediately." She flashed her teeth at me. "I suggest you choose your weapons."

As soon as she'd gone Tristan grabbed me by the arm and hauled me from the wagon steps into the air. My toes barely grazed the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Saving you," I snarled. "What does it look like?"

"Like a suicide mission! She could really hurt you."

"I can hold my own."

Tristan grabbed my upper arms and shook me. "You're not listening to me. She could kill you and it would be within her rights in the act."

"Oh." I bit my lip. "I'll try not to die then."

"It's not a joke, Ymma."

"I know!" I yelled at him, freeing one arm and hitting him in the chest. "I'm doing this for you. If you want to marry her, then tell me now so I don't have to bother."

All of a sudden he sagged and placed me softly back on the floor. He ran a hand over his face.

"You know I don't love her."

"Right," I said more gently. "So let me get on with this and stop making me worry."

* * *

It took an hour before the tribe were all assembled, the area we were to fight in established and the tribal elders all at hand to oversee the contest. Bruja had returned, wearing her horse hoof armoured wrist guards and leg greaves, but eschewing her other armour- her body plates, shield and helmet. Insulted, I realised she didn't consider me enough of a threat to wear the rest of it.

As to myself, I'd changed into my travelling tunic, familiar and comfortable in it. Saris had offered me her body armour, but I was too small, so I'd simply strapped up my wrists and relied on being nimble enough to dodge out of Bruja's way in order not to need the protective gear.

What seemed like most of the tribe had turned up to watch the contest. I spotted Saris watching in concern to my right, Kaldarr, their children and the irascible Boklod, along with several other faces from last night. But the reassuring ones I wanted most to see, my friends- Guinevere and the knights were miles away. In my mind's eye I saw them gather round the edges cheering me on, their figures suddenly so strong in my mind. Vanora's encouraging smile, Lancelot's wink, Gawain and Galahad's shouted insults about Bruja, Guinevere fingering her bow and scowling at my rival, Bors making smashing motions, Dagonet smiling kindly with Lucan beside him. Arthur's approving nod. My brother offering to fight for me.

I blinked and they vanished away, ghostlike. Instead when I opened my eyes there was Tristan, standing aloof, his face unreadable.

One of the tribal elders stepped forward, a thickset woman with ashen hair and a face ravaged by two thick scars running across her face, as though she'd been clawed by a bear.

"Bruja, are you ready?"

She smiled, and I realised she was really enjoying this. "Aye."

The elder turned towards me. "Challenger, are you ready?"

I muttered a prayer to the gods. "Look, I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I'm on your side. So Hretha, if you want me to make it out of this thing alive and thereby continue to worship and/or adore you I could really do with some protection now. Um. Please." I took a breath and nodded at the elder. "I'm ready."

"Your weapons?"

I threw my hunting dagger on the ground, and drawing Ur and Ís out of my rune bag I threw them up in the air and let them land as they wished.

Bruja spat on the ground, her face one of disbelief. "That's it? A puny knife and two bits of wood?" She threw down her own glittering sword, as well as a long dagger strapped to her leg, with a smaller ankle knife.

I swallowed. This was getting worse and worse.

Seeing my face Bruja's smile widened. "Have you even killed a man before?"

I thought back to the fat roman I had rescued Lucan from. But Kaleb and Bruinen had savaged him so it didn't really count.

"No," I answered truthfully. "But I've battled a troll."

There was a ripple around the assembled crowd. Bruja's smile slipped ever so slightly and I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue like a child.

The voice of the scarred elder interrupted. "Claiming rites are always to third blood. Challenger do you agree or do you forfeit?"

I nodded determinedly, and the elder motioned for us to pick up our weapons. I left my runes where they were, and instead fingered my dagger, feeling its cool weight in my hand. The last time I'd used it had been five days ago to skin a rabbit. The irony now was that I was the one who suddenly felt like prey.

The elder thrust her hand downwards suddenly.

The fight had begun.

We circled each other warily, Bruja easily wielding her sword in her hand, the dagger at her side throwing sunlight from its jagged blade.

I began to murmur the words I needed to weave my spell. "_Slǽp geswebban; __declínian __áwreccan ǽr ábannan."_

"Chanting isn't going to help you now."

I ignored her and repeated the gruff words under my breath. If I could just hold her off long enough for the spell to take effect then…

Bruja struck out with her long dagger. I blocked instinctively, just as she swung her sword at my abdomen. I barely moved in time. Whirling backwards, trying to avoid the sharp edge I almost tripped but didn't stop chanting.

"_Slǽp geswebban-"_

She chased out after me, bringing her sword high over my head. I blocked again, but the force of the blow left my wrist aching, and taking advantage of the weakness she lashed out.

The dagger tip caught my right arm. With a loud rip my sleeve tore and I hissed as a thin trickle of blood welled up at the surface.

The elder lifted up a finger from the sidelines where she was watching with calculating eyes. "Bruja takes first blood."

The warrior princess grinned and swung her sword lazily in her hand. "Looks like your pieces of wood aren't helping."

"They're runes," I spat, ignoring the wound as it began to sting fiercely. "Get it right."

Bruja shrugged and then swung wildly again.

I feinted to the right, then left.

"_Declínian __áwreccan-_"

I even managed to swing my sword at her so that she blocked it. I swung again, but she easily parried and thrust her sword directly back at me.

There was no time to block. No time to move from the awkward angle and the blade caught my stomach. A long jagged line sliced my tunic and across my belly. It wasn't deep, thank Hretha, but it hurt like _Kvøllheimr_. The blood welled up and began to spread staining my tunic.

"That's not going to come out," I muttered, put out.

But I had more pressing things to worry about than my laundry. Bruja, sensing victory was close at hand pressed her advantage. I was bleeding and I hadn't even had a decent swipe at her yet. Trying to regroup I attacked more forcefully, swinging my sword down heavily. It whistled over her head. One of her thin golden braids drifted to the floor, like a decapitated snake.

"_Ǽr ábannan."_

Enraged at the loss of a lock she swung hard. I stepped backwards, as the blade sang over my skull. I stumbled and she swung again. Arching backwards, my ankle gave way and I fell backwards to the floor, sword knocked from my hand. I scrambled for it but Bruja stepped on my already aching wrist, pressing down hard with her shoe.

I winced as the bones shifted beneath her weight. There was a sickening cracking sound. I cried out in agony as the bone shattered, and Bruja finally stepped off my useless wrist.

She knelt down beside me instead, smiling triumphantly, and brought the tip of her dagger to my throat, pressing it against my racing pulse.

"Bruja! Don't!" Tristan's voice called out from behind her. He almost sounded …frightened.

I swallowed hard, and the dagger dug into my skin, just below my jugular but not hard enough to draw third blood. Not yet anyway. I took a breath and squared up to my _Wyrd_, the pain in my wrist and the blood seeping into my clothes fading away as my death loomed suddenly in front of me.

I wished I could see Tristan's face. Instead all I could view was the cloudless sky and Bruja's face above my own.

I suddenly felt very sorry for her.

"You know he'll never love you."

Bruja looked at me coldly. "That won't matter when you're dead."

Her hand moved to slit my throat.

Then her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed onto me. The dagger slipped harmlessly from her hand to the ground beside me and I breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing the unconscious woman off me with my good hand, (the other cradled to my chest) I drew my own dagger and with my left hand clumsily nicked her skin three times on the flesh of her palm. Three drops of blood rose to the surface and I looked at the elder.

"I think I win."

The older woman nodded slowly. "Bruja is defeated and the Challenger triumphs. Thus ends the claiming rite."

There was a stunned silence and I hurried to explain away the comatose woman at my feet. "She's all right. It's just a sleeping spell. It takes a while to begin and to end, but in a couple of hours she'll wake up." I picked up my runes from the ground, and tucked my dagger in my waist belt. "She'll just have a rather nasty headache. Otherwise she's fine though."

Everyone began talking at once, and as some of the princess' bodyguards picked her up and began to take her away with them I escaped out of the circle of bodies and back towards the wagon, hoping to avoid…

"Tristan."

The knight had suddenly appeared in front of me, his skills as the silent scout serving him well once again. His expression was at once both gentle and serious.

"Ymma. Thank you for what you did I-"

I pushed past him impatiently, and his face clouded. "No thanks are necessary. I did what I had to. And don't feel obligated to me or anything. I know what Bruja said, but as challenger I release my claim on you. You can marry anyone you choose."

"Ymma."

"I can't be around you right now. I'm still mad at you for not telling me what was going on."

So I left him by the wagon and carried on blindly, unheeding where exactly I was going. As the adrenaline began to wear away and my triumph faded I found myself by the river. I slumped down on the ground forgetfully and cried out as I jarred my wounds, my cuts bleeding again, my wrist throbbing.

Fat tears began to roll down my cheeks and I brushed them away angrily. "Stupid Ymma," I berated myself, "stupid, stupid Ymma. Why do you always get yourself in these messes?" I sighed and shook my head despairingly. "You can never leave well alone."

Someone sat down beside me.

"Tristan," I began angrily. "I already said I had nothing more to say to you."

"I'm not Tristan."

My head snapped to the right in surprise. Boklod was sat beside me, his eyes soft in his wrinkled face.

"That was a big sigh for a small girl," he observed thoughtfully. "Why so sad?"

"I'm hardly a girl. I'm twenty..." I paused. If I went back five years in my past did I have to add on five years or would I be the same age? I tried not to think about it. "I'm hardly a girl."

"That's right," said Boklod and I felt I'd trapped myself into a corner. "You're a woman. A fine young woman." He paused. "But you still haven't answered my question. You defeated your rival, won the man you obviously love, and yet you reject him, and run off down here. Anyone else would be happy."

"Anyone else would be dead," I pointed out. "My magik saved me. Rightfully, Bruja should have won, she was the better fighter."

"One fights with the tools one is best with," Boklod said sagely. "Magik is your weapon, blades are Bruja's. Don't dismiss your win through guilt. You both agreed to the rules of the combat. Bruja knew exactly what she was doing when she went into that fight."

I sighed and stared out over the water. What he said made perfect sense, and yet it wasn't that easy for me to accept. "Look, I'm angry with Tristan for not telling me the truth, I'm cross with myself for not seeing it from the start, I'm mad I almost died, mad I got myself into this mess in the first place. I miss my friends and my family and things are complicated with Tristan."

"Why?" Said Boklod, his eyes meeting mine, the same dark earthy colour as his grandson. "You love him don't you?"

"It's not that easy."

"Why? Seems that way to me."

"You don't understand. He has to marry someone else."

"Who told you that?"

"Nothing. I-" I gave up even beginning to attempt an explanation. "Let's just say I've seen his future and it's not me in it."

Boklod snorted. "We make our own futures and no man, god or beast can tell me otherwise." He placed his hand on my shoulder. "You make your own path, Ymma." He turned and got up from the river side, leaning on his staff. "I won't tell Tristan you're down here, but I'll let him know you're safe."

"Thanks Boklod. For everything."

He nodded and left me to my thoughts.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set by the time I made my way back to the camp. Tristan was waiting for me, seated on the steps of our wagon. At my approach he looked up at my and put the sword he was sharpening back in its scabbard.

"You're bleeding."

In the stress of the day I seemed to have forgotten all about my wounds, but at Tristan's words the pain suddenly made itself well known again. Wordlessly I let myself be dispassionately stripped and cleaned, bandaged up, the wounds on my stomach and arm fortunately not needing stitches.

Only when his hands gently probed my wrist did I hiss.

"It's not a bad break," he said kindly and began to splint it, his sword roughened hands carefully strapping it up. He finished in silence and as he checked the other bandages finally to see that they were properly done he spoke quietly.

"Are you ever going to forgive me?"

His voice was so unassuming, so withdrawn that I finally found myself taking pity on him. "Only if you are very, very nice to me. And never hide something so important from me again." I shook my head. "Men. You're so stupid."

"I think you said something like that before to Arthur, though I believe 'irritating bastards' was the phrase you used at the time."

"Ah yes, when you tricked me into thinking you'd executed my brother. Good times."

He managed a chuckle, and I smiled as some of the tension began to dissipate, my humour obviously stripping him of some of his fear. One large warm hand splayed across the skin of my belly as he adjusted the bandage there slightly.

"I truly am sorry. And I promise to never ever conceal my forced betrothal to the princess of my tribe again." He sobered at my un-amused look. "No more secrets, I swear it."

I pursed my lips. "You're a knight and a scoundrel," I replied, as his hands began to slide up my stomach inch by delectable inch. "How do I know you can be trusted now?"

I gasped as his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot and he smirked at me, pressing his mouth to my ear. "Well, you could always make me an honest man by marrying me."

My heart thumped almost painfully in my chest as he brought out the rings I had seen him wearing the day he had been wounded, sat in the palm of his hand. The large gold one obviously made for a man and the delicate silver ring, its three twisting silver bands interlocking as one. "This ring belonged to my father and this to my mother. Saris kept them for me whilst I was away. She bid me take them as a reminder and as a gift to give my own bride one day."

He kissed my hair and then my temple and I clung to him, even as I knew I had to pull away. "I love you," he whispered, kissing the shell of my ear. "Marry me."

I opened my mouth and the words I thought I'd never say escaped. "I can't."

To his credit, he didn't let go, or crumble. His face didn't crack as though I'd broken his heart into tiny shreds. If anything it grew fiercer and more determined. The hand on my stomach wrapped round my back and pulled me closer as though he wouldn't dare let me go.

This was killing me but it had to be said. I curled his fingers over the rings. "I can't marry you Tristan. Somewhere out there you will meet a wonderful woman and you will marry her."

"Never."

I shook my head. "Tristan, in the future when we meet again you're married. You will meet your wife."

"I already have," he protested. "It's you."

I shook my head, and backed away, but he snatched at my arms and wrapped me close to his chest. "Ymma, I marry you or no-one else."

I couldn't speak, the fierce love in his words snatching at my breath.

_You make your own path_

Boklod's words rumbled at the back of my mind.

If I said no, would I always regret this? If I said yes would I irrevocably change the future?

Was this what was supposed to happen after all?

"Ymma, do you understand?" Tristan's voice drew me from my musings. He drew his head close down to mine. "I love you and I'm never going to marry anyone else but you. Do you understand?"

I nodded slowly.

"Is that a yes?"

Struggling past the lump in my throat I found my voice. "Yes Tristan. I will marry you."

And Tristan, a man not prone to extravagant displays of emotion picked me up, swung me round and kissed me fiercely.

I couldn't help but laugh in absolute joy.

* * *

It was several months later before we actually wed, but the day itself passed in a blur of people embracing me and slapping Tristan's back.

The whole tribe came to see us married, and even Bruja was gracious in defeat, kissing my cheeks and welcoming me formally as one of the Roxolani, without a bitter smile or cross word anywhere.

In another life perhaps we might even have been good friends.

The joy of my wedding day was only tempered by the fact that none of my family or my friends were there to see it. But Tristan's tribe soon made up for that. There was no such thing as a quiet Sarmation wedding.

The ceremony itself was quick and easy, a few murmured oaths of love and mutual worship before the gods and the tribe, Tristan placing his mother's ring on my finger where it sat warm and somehow familiar. And then it was over just like that and we were married, husband and wife, and the real party began.

The riotous dancing was still going on when Tristan pulled me over to a corner of the camp where the firelight didn't quite reach. I stumbled into him, too much mead fuddling my thoughts slightly and I giggled against his chest.

"I can't believe we finally did it."

His laugh, a sound I was still unfamiliar with rumbled pleasantly through his chest and vibrated against my skin, sending warm tingles down through me. I shivered and his breath was hot against my ear.

"Cold, my love?" His voice turned dark and knowing. "I know plenty of ways to warm you up again."

I laughed. "Really? And what ways would those be?"

"They require an area away from prying eyes and preferably you without clothes."

"That's not very fair," I pouted. "You have to remove your clothes too."

"Very well, if that is what you wish."

I kissed him fiercely, my lips slanting over his delicious mouth tasting the mead he'd drunk earlier, the wedding cake we'd eaten, the sinfully sweet taste of rich butter and fruit. I kissed down his throat, one hand sliding up his spine, the other slipping down his trousers.

"Wish it? I command it," I murmured in his ear as he hissed as my questing fingers found what I was looking for.

He nipped my lips with his sharp teeth. "You're a wicked woman." His own hands began to retaliate, one hand reaching under the hem of my intricately patterned dress and skirting up my leg.

I moaned as my hips rolled against his talented fingers. "Good thing I married a wicked man then."

There were sudden catcalls from the rest of the tribe and I realised we'd been discovered.

Tristan rested his head against mine. "I think it's time we took this somewhere more private."

"I thought you'd never ask."

That's when he took my hand and together we ran to our wagon.

And after that there were no more words.

* * *

_Three years later…_

It was a sign.

The ash fell in Constantinople, the warm afternoon suddenly disappearing as a white hot fireball suddenly bloomed in the sky and shamed the sun. A hot sulphurous wind blew, as though the gods had opened a doorway into _Múspell_ and as the fine black dust rained down on us I turned to Tristan, as we sat watching from our wagon steps.

"It's time to go back."

I knew it was a wrench for him to leave his family again. In the time we had been with the Roxolani they had become like a second family to me, but both Tristan and I knew the consequences of what would happen if neither of us returned to Britannia.

Leaving our wagon behind and packing what possessions we had accrued between us that could be carried we left, the haunting blessing of the tribe following us as we departed, the farewell blessing song lifting high on the breeze as they sang.

"Blessed be your feet. May swift winds always direct your paths."

The trek back was fraught with a sense of urgency that hadn't been there before as the months passed and we travelled over miles of land. Tristan couldn't be late. He had to make it on time. He had to be in the right place so that past me would find him, would rescue him.

Which still made me worry. Nearly five years had passed and not once had Tristan been injured. There were no wounds to become infected, not even a slight scratch that might grow into something horrid. Which meant the threat to his life was drawing nearer and nearer.

And with that came an even bigger realisation. If Tristan had accompanied me on my trek then when he had woken up in the sick bed after I had cured him…he'd said goodbye to me only a few weeks ago.

Whilst I hadn't seen him for five years.

It was little wonder then that he had been so gentle with me when he saw me. I suddenly realised how hard it must have been for him to have me hate him, when in fact he knew we were married. How he must have been bursting to tell me the truth and couldn't.

The irony behind his words to me _It's good to see you again_.

* * *

At the channel's edge separating Britannia from Gaul, I kissed Tristan hard in goodbye. There hadn't been room on the ferry boat for both of us, so I was to take a later ship and watch and wait until my friends were transported by my spell into Loki's realm. Only then could I openly reveal myself to them upon their return.

There was a prickling feeling at the back of my neck. Something very important I had to do in order for this to all fit. I twisted my wedding ring anxiously with my thumb, and then realised.

Tristan's face grew grim when I slipped my wedding ring off and onto his little finger. He gripped my hand hard, as though he thought I was suddenly abandoning him.

"Ymma?"

"A reminder that I do love you whatever I do or say." I cupped his face reassuringly. "And a promise. I'll come back."

"I love you."

But there was no time to reply as the ferryman and his crew gave the final boarding call and reluctantly I let him go, his hand slipping from mine.

This time it was me watching him sail away into the mists of the water back to Britannia. I was the one being left behind.

The old ache rose up in my chest, and I felt my eyes begin to sting as he disappeared completely into the gloom. I sat down on the wooden jetty and began to wait for my own boat to be ready.

There was nothing else I could do.

* * *

"Join hands and whatever you do, whatever you see, don't let go."

It was rather odd watching myself throw the runes up in the air and shout the spell words:

"_Æfterfylgan dysignese_!"

The words shimmered in the air as the runes stopped in mid fall. There was a flash of darkness as if the sun had suddenly been swallowed and the group of men and women holding hands disappeared.

Taking my cue I slipped out from behind a tree and walked up to the cliff top where only moments ago we had all been standing.

There was a brilliant burst of light and suddenly the knights were spat back out on the ground, Arthur and Guinevere clutching their retrieved children to them. Disorientated they blinked and I offered my hand to help Dagonet up.

Bemused he let me hug him hard.

"I've missed you all so much!"

Dagonet blinked. "What?"

I shook my head and made my way round the group, embracing each of my friends enthusiastically, smiling inwardly at their confused looks.

Eventually of course, I reached the one man I had been missing the most.

"Tristan, gods, I love you."

He kissed me softly, his lips gently pressing against mine, his hands winding through my hair to massage the back of my head. I pulled him closer, tugging on his tunic so that his chest moulded against me.

Lancelot shoved his shoulder playfully. "Let the girl breathe! She's only been gone a few seconds."

We broke away and smiled at each other. "Feels like five years."

"I have something of yours." Tristan slipped the silver ring off his little finger and onto mine. "Now it's where it belongs."

"And I have something of yours too." I reached into the pocket of my dress and pulled out the sun pendant I'd given him once upon a time.

"But how? I threw it into the sea all those years ago."

I wiggled my fingers and smiled, tying it round his neck. "Magik."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Galahad, who seemed to have only just pieced things together. "You two are married?"

Suddenly there was a babble of confused voices, as each of the group tried to work out what on earth had happened.

"When did this happen?"

"Why weren't we invited to the wedding?"

"What was the price you had to pay?"

"Why do you look older?"

Bors scratched his head. "Is anyone else confused?"

"It's a very long story," I laughed. "But I think explanations can wait until later." I smiled at the children as they clutched tightly to their parent's hands. "For now I think we've got a celebration to have."

"Here, here!" Agreed Bors. "We killed the trolls, and beat ourselves a god. I think we deserve to get absolutely smashed."

"I'll drink to that," Lancelot laughed.

"By the way," I said, my head resting against Tristan's chest as we walked back to the tavern. "There is one question I never found an answer to. When we met you were dying. How were you hurt?"

Tristan frowned. "There was a fight about money for passage back. I'd agreed to pay half at the start and half at the end but the captain changed his mind and demanded more when we arrived. I refused, and ended up fighting him and half the crew. Needless to say I was wounded but escaped." He smiled and touched my cheek. "And then you found me." He pulled me closer to him. "I've missed you."

"I can tell."

* * *

Inside the tavern we all settled down as the serving girls brought out barrels of mead. Tristan pulled me into his lap as Bors set down a large glass in front of me.

I handed it back to him, shaking my head.

"Oh, I can't drink," I explained. "Expectant women aren't allowed."

There was a sudden silence and I grinned at Tristan's astonished expression.

I patted his hand kindly. "That means I'm pregnant, by the way."

"We're going to have a baby?" He placed a hand over my still flat stomach almost reverently and then was heartily slapped by the knights. As Tristan was drawn away by the men Guinevere hugged me, her face beaming.

"Congratulations!" She said sincerely. "I know you'll be wonderful parents."

"To Tristan!" Toasted Lancelot, standing on a chair and winking lewdly. "May he be as fertile as Bors!"

"To Ymma!" Guinevere rebutted sharply, pulling him down. "May she be as patient as Vanora."

Dagonet raised his glass. "To you both and your unborn baby."

Everyone drank and I beamed happily, before standing up and motioning for everyone to be quiet.

"If I could propose a toast?" I asked, Tristan's fingers intertwined with mine. "To Tristan, myself and our unborn babies," I corrected and leaned over to kiss my husband's cheek, my lips curving upwards in amusement at his stunned expression.

"I'm having twins."

* * *

**So this is it. The end of the road. Six years and a whole bunch of words later my story is now complete.**

**It's a very odd feeling finishing a story like this. I've become so attached to it, it's rather like saying goodbye to a very old friend.**

**Please read and review. Let me know what you thought. And thank you to all my wonderful reviewers who've stuck with me all this time.**

**You've been fantastic.**

**Translations:**

_Ge ac eower ádeliht muð_: You and your filthy mouth

_Ge ac eower_ _ádeliht gehygd_: You and your filthy mind

_Gouden avend: _Goodnight

_Ficken __þes: _Roughly translates as 'F*** this'

_Slǽp geswebban; __declínian __áwreccan ǽr ábannan: _Sleep, put her to sleep. Do not awake until commanded.

**Info: **

**Frige:** Earth mother goddess

**Wyrd:** A concept in Anglo-Saxon culture roughly corresponding to fate or personal destiny.

**Geola:** Midwinter solstice. Survives as the modern Yule, and contained the most important festival Modranect, or Mothers' Night, and may have been associated with the birth of the god Ing. It was taken over wholesale by the Christian faith to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

**Hretha:** Warrior goddess. March is named after her.

**Ur:** Represents the vitality of the life force. In magic it can be used to bring about strength and physical health beside it and

**Is:** In spell work, it can be used to bring activities of some kind to a complete halt, to ice it over.

**Kvøllheimr**: A place of punishment for the wicked. Within it is Nástrønd "corpse strand" a dwelling made of adders. Here the evil dead are sent to forever have burning poison drip down upon them.

In 472 AD, it's a historical fact that ash fell in Constantinople from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

**Múspell **a region of pure fire ruled by the ettin Surtr. Others like him inhabit the realm and are the closest thing to evil incarnate that can be found in Northern European mythology


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